First Steps
by not-yo-mama
Summary: Saavik is sent to the school planet Akadem to prepare her for real life. She gets more than a few doses of reality during her first year there, but the lessons do not go to waste. Remember, she does end up as a Star Fleet officer!
1. Chapter 1: Akadem

Author note: Characters, events, and other elements of this story which are found in the "Star Trek" continuum are the property of the writers of the television/motion picture episodes and commercially published novels, or of the company that owns them; as concerns additional characters and planets and non-human races: while they are my own creation. I am taking no profit, monetary or otherwise, from their association with established Star Trek elements. This is purely for fun.

Part I: Beta Quarter

Ch.1: Akadem

"…Welcome to Akadem, a galactic intermediate and secondary education center housed on the planet of the same name in the Tantalus Sector. Its more than 60,000 students are educated in 17 complexes or clusters of instructional centers and classroom buildings, each cluster encompassing related disciplines. The students are housed in 90 dormitories and other living arrangements. In most clusters, educational and housing facilities are grouped near each other.

"Akadem offers schooling for all young beings who are able to pass the qualifying tests, regardless of age. Expressed in human terms, the ages of students range from ten to twenty years…

"…Length of a student's stay depends upon the individual education plan worked out among student, student's family or guardians, and the academic advisors assigned to the student. The average time needed to complete a curriculum is eight years."

If it had been possible for a Vulcan to fidget, roll her eyes, pick at clothing lint, or otherwise show impatience, Saavik might still not have done it. She _had_ read through the entire Akadem Prospectus hard-copy exactly seven times already for want of anything else to do on the shuttle; she skimmed the next section on the academic work

"Basic courses are taught in the Lower Division 2 to 4 years, although a student may take part in advanced courses according to his/her/its abilities. Specific fields of interest are developed during the Middle Division 3 to 4 years; at this stage many proceed to training academies in a wide variety of disciplines, or to exchange programs on other school planets…

"Upper Division study 2 to 4 years involves intensive academic preparation and pre-professional development for those students aiming at the G.B. Galacticum Baccalaureum or towards admission to an advanced Academy in their chosen field. A number of individualized field programs are offered on a Quarter basis.

"The academic year is divided into Quarters designated Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta. Alpha Quarter begins during the planetary equivalent of winter. The year on Akadem is 422 standard sidereal days long. The allows even division into four Quarters of thirteen weeks each, and permits a four-week break between Delta and Alpha Quarters and a ten days' break between each of the remaining Quarters."

Saavik quelled the apprehension over what the next years on Akadem would bring her way. She had thoroughly memorized the general outline of programs offered in each complex; the electives and the non-academic activities… an impressive list of galaxy-renowned professors who had the task of helping "some of the brightest young minds" to unfold to their potential…

She had known she was coming here for quite a while. Spock had chosen Akadem for her formal education since so many of its faculty were acquaintances of his. In addition, some of the _Stanek's_ Vulcan scientists had spent their school years on Akadem and had given favorable reviews of the curriculum. Intellectually, Saavik knew she could perform the work and advance in such an environment.

She skimmed through the remainder of the standard guide issued to all new students, but saw nothing that raised any more questions in her.

The intercom hummed. "One hour and fifteen minutes to planetfall." Their shuttlecraft had made good time. From planet Rubicon to Space Station Sirah there had been other passengers, but after that, for the long-distance segment to Akadem, there had been only she and Spock. The passenger area was utilitarian, designed as it was for short journeys under twelve hours. Saavik laid her printout on the bulkhead shelf and gazed into the unfamiliar space outside the nearest view port – unrelieved blackness.

Spock observed, "We will arrive in the planet's early morning hours. I believe we will have adequate time for all necessary arrangements before my shuttle to Berengaria station departs." He looked at her neutrally. "Have you any questions before we arrive?"

But he knew she would be reluctant to speak freely, as had been the case ever since he began making plans for her future. Saavik had never been a person to reveal all that troubled her. The Vulcan officer had taken great pains to prepare her for the academic demands of organized education. In fact, Spock was sure that his protégée was already far advanced over human children of twelve or thirteen… although her knew no human children personally and had not been overwhelmingly impressed by the few he had met during his discovery days on the _Enterprise_

Spock of Vulcan was secretly proud of her, Saavik realized as she saw the way he looked at her now. She was acutely sensitive to his concern for her, very much aware that he had poured a great deal of his own outlook and personality into her – and that her had made a commitment to salvage her and help her see the Vulcan Ways. Inwardly she shuddered at the memory of what she _had_ been, and where she had been headed, before his appearing in her life. Now, in place of that Saavik was a calm-faced, poised young Vulcan girl in crisp new flight coveralls, dark hair pulled back perhaps too severely from her face, just another Vulcan child.

Spock lifted one eyebrow slightly and kept his gaze steady upon her. Saavik was aware that thoughts were forming in her mind, pulling together what Spock had been telling her for a long time: _this is a necessary step…the people with whom you will live and work will not all be to your liking, but it is essential that you know, and know well, the realities of the world._ It was almost as if Spock were actively telepathic with her, but Saavik recognized that she was just gathering thoughts already spoken at other times. And she knew it was true. There was no going back to a home that had not been a home. Neither Vulcan nor any of the worlds of the Romulan Empire could be home to her, not unless a lot of things changed… and she had consigned the memories of the planet of her birth to oblivion… pretty much.

Spock seemed to be hesitating about something, then reached across the small space between their seats, to barely touch the edge of her right temple. Saavik was surprised and un-Vulcanly moved. He was reminding her of their mind-link – now, instead of later when there would be others around. She allowed peace to settle over her and seemed to hear the words, "That is better", not spoken but transmitted through the light touch. Spock withdrew his hand then.

"You have much to learn. Your potential is great. If I were more inclined to express my human side, I would almost envy you."

This gave Saavik an odd thrill. Spock did not need to envy, emulate, or compete with anyone! His words made her proud. It was almost too much.

By the time the planet Akadem, wobbled into sight shortly thereafter, Saavik was calm inside. Spock, in the other seat, was once more a formidable Vulcan enigma. It was time to begin growing up. She realized that even considering the horrors of her childhood, this might be the toughest time of her life.

--

Neill Gallaghan couldn't exactly be accused of sulking, but it was a fact that this morning found her in a rotten mood. One year from entering the Upper Division, she really hadn't clicked into a satisfactory place on this damned planet. Dr. Brady had identified her problem pretty accurately during her last session with her Triad: "Your academics are fine, Neill," he'd said in that old-fashioned heavy way of his, "but you obviously have issues no one here has even scratched the surface."

Well, whatever. Not feeling that this was anybody's business, Neill had closed her obtuseness around herself, as she usually did when directly confronted. There in Dr. Brady's tiny Faculty House office, with Brady and Hakat and that wishy-washy Suzy Gomez inspecting those purrrr-fect nails, Neill had been forced to defend herself.

"My work is fine, as you have just said. In fact, it's better than fine. I know my plans for Upper Division, and even beyond that. That's all that matters, OK?"

Brady had sighed, given her another moment, and then gone into a lecture about the place of Akadem as a Galaxy AAA school: the careful selection process; the painstaking and conscientious role of faculty advisors and of the Triad system itself. "Neill, four years is a long time to be so unhappy. Our job here isn't to be your jailers or psychologists or social advisors…"

And so, on and on, blah, blah, blah.

Neill now sat by the boat basin, wanting to heave some rocks into the water, but not finding any due to the faultless grounds keeping. She remembered Howard Brady's every word.

"…Above all, this school aims to help students develop their entire being. You are in the top two per cent academically, and further study in any advanced academy will be no problem at all." Predictable. Then, a hint that she should lighten up, be a real person, make friends, all that psych jazz they'd been telling her for years, dammit, even the hint that Akadem might not be the place for her, after all.

The, Hakat had thrown her a surprise. "Filimas has praised your eye for lines and spaces, your organization and the cleanness of your planning. Have you considered training for architecture?" That had jolted her. She certainly did enjoy her sessions with the resident galactic artist. She did know that there were valuable things beside computers, data matrices, and statistical analyses. But Neill would never, on her own, admit to anyone just how much she looked forward to her art studio visits. Suzy Gomez must have told, though: she was also one of Filimas' pupils.

That was the drawback of this system, Neill thought: there was always some do-goody student in one's Triad – and she'd had some doozies. But hardly anyone stayed with her for more than a Quarter. Her sullen and barely civil demeanor usually put them off, and she rather enjoyed her power over others.

"We respect independence, individuality, even iconoclasm," Dr. Brady had told her once in exasperation, "because we _want_ students with those qualities, who won't be afraid of anything when they leave here. We tolerate a wide range of personalities in our students and faculty, because that seems to go along with brilliance. And we know most people have a great many personal oddities, especially if they've already been recognized as the sharpest edges and the brightest lights of their home world as children. But an abrasive personality will prevent you from learning all you could, and the kind of suppressed violence I sometimes see in you can only harm _you_, here and on the outside."

Neill had dismissed this with cold impatience. She had resisted the Triad's attempt to insert the Architecture model into her major curriculum for Gamma Quarter, annoyed at their pressure. As far as she was concerned, her course was set for the next three Quarters, pure science only – and she had won out, keeping the Arch. module only as an elective. She was a brilliant science student, blast them, and _nothing_ was going to take her off track.

There were some boats on the water now – some rowboats, some early-season crew members, even one of those ridiculous pedal boats that looked like a swan, for heaven's sake. She was not interested in any of this; in fact, she was wasting her time here. Neill gathered her bag and her jacket from the bench and hiked back to the moving sidewalk.

"Hey!" Someone was hailing her from the stationary walk alongside, and although she would really rather have ignored the boy, she turned to see. It was Tor Srimandan, a former member of her Triad from Alpha Quarter last year. Tor had actually stuck with her for two whole Quarters, quite a record. He was an Upper in pre-medicine and just too damned cheerful and friendly. Still… Tor had been one of the few guys she _might_ have allowed herself to consider liking. God knows how many males on this planet she had been thoroughly unpleasant to! The few who were on good terms with her were all complete computer geeklets.

Reaching the library, Neill stepped off the mover and entered by the side door, going straight to the ultradata processing center. She reviewed the parameters of her new program for Hakat, a complicated analysis which could be applied in her physics course as well. Hakat taught that also. She was sure it would have his approval when she sent it to him through the datastream. Hakat practically lived in Science Delta, shuttling between his cubicle and the end of the basement computer array and his wife's office in the astronomy lab section. His seven-foot frame would clatter through the corridors and then stretch itself over two or three ordinary-size chairs, and although he would probably not smile when he scanned her program (Ledaynans rarely did), his double-pupiled eyes would light up with lively and instant comprehension at her initiative and the elegance of her mental processes.

Was she smiling, herself, at this thought? Maybe… maybe because Hakat was not human and thus did not make her uncomfortable. She did not resent his comments or criticism. Filimas, strangely enough, also had this effect upon her. She would bend over a hunk of styrodyne or old-fashioned clay, shaping it to her will, or align a strut on one of Neill's models, and talk about improvement needed in her own work, or her own views about art, never lecturing Neill. And Neill would get that disquieting feeling that her own strongly-defended laws of life did not, perhaps, cover everything important, at least not while she was with Hakat or Filimas…


	2. Chapter 2: Launching

Author note: Characters, events, and other elements of this story which are found in the "Star Trek" continuum are the property of the writers for the television and motion picture episodes, or of the company that owns them; as concerns additional characters and planets and non-human races: while they are my own creation, I am taking no profit, monetary or otherwise, from their association with established Star Trek elements. This is purely for fun.

Ch.2: Launching

Carinne Ramsey liked this time of the day on Akadem. The planet's sun in this season was already high by 1000 hours, and this view was the best, from Jenner House's outside stairwell. She rarely used the lift, and on this last day of the intersession Carinne had climbed past the top floor and was perched on the rim of the skylight with a few energy bars and a mostly ripe Mukhtar peach. Neither books nor laptop nor other study paraphernalia accompanied her today. The few days' respite from classes had been welcome but things would be back to normal craziness tomorrow. Most of Carinne's courses would be familiar, merely continuing from Alpha Quarter.

A letter had come from Dad that morning: all was well on Castillus; Mom had opened her long-planned-for pottery shop, and he himself had received a two-year extension of his appointment there. Carinne was able to read family news without becoming sentimental or homesick. Her "home" had been so many places over the years, between her father's and her mother's diplomatic assignments, and since coming to Akadem at age 12 (four years ago), she had been to visit her family only three times. Other students, to be sure, never left the planet at all, by choice or necessity. Certainly there was no point in going anywhere during the shorter intersessions. It suited Carinne to stay here; there was always something happening. She could count on her acquaintances who were full-time Akadem residents in the towns to let her stay with them for a change of scenery from the dorms.

A diplomats' brat, Carinne was able to live peacefully with almost anyone, but she admitted that a short vacation from her quad was a boon on occasion. Her most recent roommate had left for a hospital planet dental training course in lieu of her last Upper Division year, only a week ago. With only Neill living in the other room, it had been unusually tranquil. And between Neill and her there were as few conversations as possible. Carinne made sure of that. It seemed as if the other girl could hardly utter more than a few words without sarcasm or insult.

She was secretly amazed that someone hadn't sent Neill to counseling, or suggested she go back to Earth, or punched her lights out… Neill seemed so out of place, especially since one of the main non-academic purposes of Akadem was to xenosocialize its students. From her parents' carefully diplomatic conversations Carinne had learned just how difficult even the more mature members of the Galaxy's many races could be to work with, and how rampant bigotry still was. For many peoples, this was their first generation of membership in the Federation, and old habits of xenophobia and clannishness died hard.

They were expecting two new quadmates this Quarter. After two Quarters' solo living on her advisors' recommendation, Neill was finally going to have a try at a roommate. Since they were both to be Uppers soon, the new girls would be either Lower Division transfers from other quads, or rank newcomers. Carinne sighed as she finished her breakfast. She stood up and stretched, enjoying the prospect from the roof. Of course no one was allowed up here, but no one ever bothered to secure the skylight. Below her, the Science Complex I buildings formed four sides of a hexagon, ringing the Main, where groups of students lazed in the sunshine. Beyond that lay the odd buildings of the gym and the boat house and the Grub, and past them the long, narrow basin used for swimming and boating. No one was brave enough to swim yet: most of the races of people she knew found the water still too cold.

The moving sidewalk hardly seemed in motion, still empty of students. There was a string of speedwalkers winding with the curves of the stationary part of the walk between the buildings.

Starting down the stairs, Carinne half hoped that Neill would already have gone to the library or the lab building where she had spent nearly every day of the break. She trotted down the hall and touched the ID plate to open her quad door.

Someone was there, but it wasn't Neill. The two people sitting in the common room were perched awkwardly on the padded chairs. Obviously, they were accustomed to straighter furniture. They were Vulcans: a tall, shadow-eyed adult male in some kind of undress uniform, and a young female in tan coveralls. They had been talking quietly and looked up immediately as Carinne entered.

"Apologies," Carinne said, nodding to them. She addressed herself first to the man with a slight bow, and then turned to the girl. "I hope that your journey was pleasant. My name is Carinne Ramsay."

"I am Saavik," the Vulcan girl answered, rising. "I am to be your roommate." She turned to her companion, who had also come to his feet, and who now faced the human with his hands clasped behind his back. "This is Spock, my teacher." She emphasized the last word.

"You are welcome, Spock", Carinne said, remembering the correct way to converse with Vulcans. She had heard of this Vulcan since she was a young child; but the diplomat in her refrained from the impoliteness of gushing a welcome. Instead, Carinne noted with some amusement that both Vulcans kept their hands behind their backs, as if to forestall any handshaking. Carinne knew better than to try that. "Will you need any help in getting settled in here, Saavik?"

"No – thank you," replied Saavik. The "thank you" was an afterthought. She was taking a good, long look at her new roommate, this human with whom she would have to live. She was glad Spock was there for the moment…but he would be gone soon…

--

The original plan had been to leave her on planet Rubicon 8 when the _Stanek_ passed by there nine days ago, and to have her catch a short-transport to Akadem. It was illogical to plan anything more elaborate: she was only a student, a young and insignificant one, commanding no extraordinary efforts on anyone's part. But then Spock had come to have a formal talk with her, and had suggested afterward that he travel with her.

"It will not take so much time out of my schedule," he had insisted against her protests. He pointed out that this way he could have a chance to speak with her instructors and ensure that all was in order. Saavik knew very well that Spock had already had ample communication with them, and that her first Quarter's curriculum was set, but realized that her teacher must have his own, logical reasons. She had assented to his wishes.

Even when much younger, more savage and uncontrolled, even when she had not understood very well what the Vulcan Way entailed, Saavik had never been afraid of Spock. The scientists on board _Stanek _had all been peaceful and non-threatening, but none had taken the patience and individual time with her as Spock had. Even when still struggling with Vulcan language and with elementary control over her fierce, survival-oriented Romulan side, Saavik had known that this Star Fleet officer saw a value in her, that she herself could not yet see. From Spock she accepted any correction, suggestion, or reprimand, because she had not a moment's doubt that he meant well for her. And for three years he had overseen her education and the development of her sense of self. Through his calm and objective eyes she had learned much about reason, curiosity, and intellectual integrity.

So, she had not been frightened at the prospect of spending a number of years on a school planet among other races of beings. Having accepted the wisdom of doing this, Saavik was willing to go and meet it on her own. Still, any time spent in Spock's company was time well spent.

Spock's gift to her – one that an outsider might indeed not see in its full value – was to create a mind-link of sorts with her. She had permitted him to see into the confusion of her mind and to help her in sorting out the memories and exorcising the old Romulan demons of hate and instinctual violence. That had been nothing, however, to the brilliance of thought-sharing, when Spock had opened _his_ mind to her. It had no doubt caused him distress, but Saavik marveled at the sanity and order of that mind; she perceived the dilemma of his own mixed heritage, and the discipline needed to subdue his human, emotional side. There she also saw the intense burning to understand the universe and its people. She had come out of the mind-link with an even greater wish to be like Spock.

The experience also left in her a certain peace from an appreciation of the harmony and balance of Spock's thoughts. Contemplating them, she could believe such harmony and balance possible for her as well. There were moments of tremendous struggle when she was among humans, when her every instinct was to scream, to destroy. During her first ten years, that had been the only way to claim even the tiniest bit of control over her own life. If she was not scrapping for food with the wild bengats at the dump, she was trying keep from being beaten up by any of the numerous Hellguard outcasts. It was a wonder that Spock had seen anything worth salvaging in the undernourished, feral little creature that had crept up to his camp that night three years ago. But he had. Although she was changed after those three years, it would be much, much longer before Saavik could rely on her own physical and mental control. She had asked Spock whether he had ever felt like striking back in the face of cruelty and prejudice.

"Yes," he had stated simply. "But it was a _feeling_ and I knew it had to be, and could be, controlled – not repressed, but suppressed. To have yielded to it would have been to negate our philosophy and to call into question my command of logic."

Spock's mind-link with Saavik left her with the feeling (illogical, probably) that he was present with her, if only she would concentrate on him. She suspected that this had been her teacher's intention all along. At times she despaired of ever understanding the full complexity of Spock's mind, the Vulcan and also, more incomprehensibly, the human.

--

Spock would leave by shuttle or planet-based transporter in the early afternoon. Saavik had stored her few possessions quickly and efficiently in her new room. Even before bringing her here to Jenner House, Spock had taken her by the Faculty House and found Hakat of Ledayn, who was an old acquaintance. Hakat introduced her to several other professors and to Gale Kyllie, the head of the Faculty-Student Relations for the Science I complex. This had provided her with some names to call upon, should she need any help before the Quarter's work began in earnest. Kyllie had apparently heard about her already, and greeted Saavik with a correct blend of welcome and reserve. Saavik noted that many of the professors knew Spock by sight and greeted him with the honorific "Doctor", a title to which he was entitled four times over, but which he never used outside the academic world.

The faculty members had spent a short time on basic questions, had welcomed her sincerely; Ms. Kyllie had explained briefly that after a week or two Saavik would get an appointment with her Triad, or advisory committee, who would guide her in her studies throughout her years on Akadem. At different times, other faculty members would counsel her as well, depending on her curriculum from Quarter to Quarter. They told her that she would enter at the third-year level in the Lower Division. By the human-year standard generally used, this was the proper entry level for a thirteen-year-old.

Kyllie had explained, "It will be up to your advisors to recommend level changes, and it may be possible for you to go to fourth-year status – that's the same as first-year Middle Division – after less than a year." Pleased as she would have been to have a higher ranking, Saavik was inwardly satisfied that she was at least equal to other students of her age, despite having had no formal schooling.

Now, as Spock stood in the common room of her new quarters, about to leave, she was calm. They had talked only about practical matters before the human girl Carinne had entered. It was as good a time as any to part. Carinne excused herself quietly and disappeared into the bedroom they would share. In the ensuing quiet, Saavik looked straight at Spock. "I will try to remember all that you have taught me."

"Not what I have taught…what you have learned. And never think that you have learned all there is. If you have no more questions now, I shall leave."

Saavik stood perfectly straight. "Peace and long life, my Teacher."

"Live long and prosper, Saavik." This was spoken in Vulcan. "And when you are in difficulties – always take the second breath." With this good advice, he saluted her in the Vulcan manner and walked from the quad with only a short backward look from the open doorway. Saavik watched him and caught his eye at the last moment.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock." And then he was gone. His regular steps were still audible down the hallway when she turned back to see Carinne Ramsay framed in the bedroom entrance.

"If there's anything I can answer for you, I'll be glad to help. I'm going to meet some friends for lunch at the Grub – that's a student eating place nearby – and you're welcome to come along."

"I do not eat at midday," Saavik explained, realizing that the best way to start relationships with humans was probably to be honest and give information about _her_ way of doing things. "I believe it would be better if I acquainted myself with the plan of the Science complex."

"Sounds reasonable," Carinne said amiably, not put off at all. "I'll see you later this afternoon, I guess. Have you got enough space for your stuff in the bathroom? With just two people in here for so long, we've tended to let ours expand…like slime molds."

"Everything is fine." Saavik did want to know one more thing before Carinne left. "Who else lives here with us?"

"In the other room? So far, there's only Neill Gallaghan; she's my age, 16, and she's in physics and computers. Yeah, by the way, I'm studying history and galactic exosociology. But you probably won't see Neill till this evening. Her new roommate hasn't come yet; she could even be here a few days late, it happens."

Once Carinne had gone, Saavik sat for a moment on the common room sofa, in a temporary hiatus. Then she embarked firmly on her plan to explore the Science complex. Going to the compu/desk on her side of the bedroom, she tinkered with it until she had all the setting she preferred, then punched up the sector map and had a hard copy printed out. With the weather so mild, she needed no coat or jacket. Once outside Jenner House, Saavik began to walk among the buildings. She was very much a stranger here at the moment; how it would be later on, she did not know. But she was determined that she _would_ learn; there were so many lost years to catch up.

--

They were eating the evening meal together in the Jenner House hall, Saavik more than a little uncomfortable among the students who had greeted Carinne enthusiastically and invited them to join them at the long table. She kept her mouth shut after the introductions, and watched and listened. Students served themselves from the hot and cold food dispensers, and carried their meals over on trays. Maintenance staff circulated around the room, refilling beverage pitchers and reminding students to clear up after they were done – and to deal vigorously with the inevitable, sometimes unfortunate malfunctioning of the food-synth machines.

Saavik had already met three of the four young males who occupied the quad to the east of hers. Seeing Carinne, they had galloped over, curious but trying not to be too obvious. One was a violet-skinned, light-haired humanoid who introduced himself as Gaunandantikaili d'Iste, a Paynant. The other two were human – Jaime Rojon y Kresnovich, who wore his abundant black hair in a braid down his back, and Bradley Franks, possibly the youngest and smallest student Saavik had yet seen on this planet. She did not think he could be more than eight or nine years old; still, he might be just naturally small rather than a child prodigy.

The boys sat with them and Saavik listened to a frivolous and laughing conversation mainly involving Jaime's and Gauni's antics during the recent intersession. The Vulcan girl found herself looking across the table at the large, solemn eyes of young Franks. The two of them ate in silence; Saavik guessed that the boy was intimidated; she herself had no more to contribute to the talk than he did.

Glancing up, she noticed that Jaime was now watching her with his deep-set green eyes; non-human though she was, she knew that kind of look. It crossed all races and cultures and reminded her that she must set boundaries early on in her stay here, or there would be trouble that she was not sure she could handle in a civilized manner. She gave the older male a cool look, saw him blink and retreat. Perhaps he was remembering what people knew about Vulcans: don't bother to flirt with them. And apparently he did, for he casually re-entered the conversation of the others. Saavik relaxed.

More students joined them. Several were from the same floor as Carinne and Saavik, and Carinne was obviously friends with all of them. There was a young Deltan female, a red scarf lending an individual accent to her shapely bald head. Saavik wondered how a Deltan coming into physical maturity could live among humans and other humanoid species, and whether AiAnn had a Deltan domestic companion living with her. But at the moment, there was no other Deltan with her. Saavik would have to find out later.

Conversation was now dominated by the old-timers. The newcomers – Saavik, Bradley, and a girl introduced only as Holly – ate in silence. Suddenly, Carinne's hand flew up. "Neill! Over here!"

There was an ill-concealed groan from Jaime, and some of the others rolled their eyes, but Carinne was firm and cheerful. Saavik saw the approaching figure: a pale, slender blonde gripping a meal tray with square, blocky, clenched hands. Reluctantly, she acknowledged Carinne's summons and let herself down into the chair that was farthest removed from the group. Carinne made a point of introducing Neill to the new students, whom the older girl barely looked at.

_Is she uncomfortable, like me?_ Saavik pondered the situation. Neill gave her a brief look that communicated nothing, then turned her attention to her food. Saavik sensed her alienation. She expected to find this feeling in herself, but in a human it seemed out of place. Personally, she did not demand that an intelligent being conform slavishly to all others of its species; in many cases it was better not to do so. And she had no right to expect that people to reveal everything about themselves, just for her personal evaluation and research – though it certainly would help her understand humans better.

She noticed that the others were also ignoring Neill. Whether it was familiarity or contempt, Saavik could not tell. She was not inclined to be prejudiced for or against Neill. To find a cool nature in a human was probably not a bad thing; perhaps it worked for them as it did for Vulcans by insulating an ordered mind from emotional assaults and disturbances.

Saavik stayed in her chair, watching and listening, very much the alien. When everyone had finished eating, several of the students made arrangements to "go out", others to visit in each other's quads. Carinne did not ask Saavik along when she departed with Jaime and some their friends. Maybe she sensed the emotional overload of Saavik's first day on Akadem.

Saavik sought out a meditation space, and quite by chance discovered a nest of small rooms with doors that could be palm-locked, adjacent to the dining hall. She did not see any evidence that they were reserved for anyone; there was no desk or terminal, only a low padded bench and a light-dimmer panel that could be cut down to night-glow. In the ghostly blueness the young Vulcan composed herself in meditation.


	3. Chapter 3: First Bearings

Author note: Characters, events, and other elements of this story which are found in the "Star Trek" continuum are the property of the writers of the television/motion picture episodes and commercially published novels, or of the company that owns them; as concerns additional characters and planets and non-human races: while they are my own creation. I am taking no profit, monetary or otherwise, from their association with established Star Trek elements. This is purely for fun.

Ch. 3: First Bearings

Saavik had two hours until her first formal mathematics class, but did not really know how she should prepare. Of course she had met Hakat on her first day on Akadem, and from his questions on that occasion she understood that his approach was as much philosophical as technical. She considered accessing his Alpha-Quarter lessons plans on one of the many terminal stations scattered around the library, but decided to start some research for the course she had begun just that morning.

This was the Galactic Arts Survey, a required course that embraced fine arts, drama, and music. Of all the subjects mentioned in the course outline, only music had appealed to her in any way. Before the Vulcans had taken her off Hellguard, before she had first heard the clear, contemplative chime of their lyrettes and the severe booming of the _rubiqan_ gong… before all that, the only music she had ever known were the drunken ditties of the traders and the attendant riffraff. So, music had been a source of terror, never of pleasure, since the Romulans in their cups would not spare a child, or an animal, or any defenseless thing to escape unscathed… But much had changed, including Saavik's appreciation of music.

That morning had been spent in an overview of the course; Saavik believed that she understood the purpose of studying the cultures of the major known sentient races. However, she questioned her own capacity for artistic judgment. She knew she could learn facts and figures easily: schools and movements, offshoots and influences – all that could be studied and categorized… But to _feel_ what the arts supposedly awakened in a person…The Vulcan attitude on art had long been explained to her, and to that extent she could express appreciation for such things as balance, rhythm, spareness of line and "beauty" as a function of logical arrangement. More than that, she was not prepared to admit.

The class had been interesting, though. Hers was one of five sections being taught this Quarter, and her instructor, Dr. Mianette Folsom, presided over a lecture hall of 250 or so Lower Division students. Folsom had told them that during the Quarter some sessions would also be taught by other Arts Complex professors, as the class studied their specialties. She had promised that smaller, more challenging seminar courses would become available as electives once they reached third-year level. It was obvious to Saavik that she would have to work more independently if she were going to learn anything of value in this and other subjects. She could not envision a true rapport with an instructor based solely on this chaotic lecture-hall "zoo" (as Carinne had termed it).

With this in mind, Saavik logged into the information system at a console in the large entry area of the Science Complex library. She requested a general catalog of materials for the arts course, and received a printed copy to take away. The disks could be copied for her when she decided which items she wanted to read. Using the science library's facilities was a matter of convenience; in fact, of course, most databanks were accessible from any library, classroom, public, or quad terminal on the planet.

Quickly scanning the list, Saavik picked a dozen titles that promised to clear up some of the questions she had about various arts: graphics, sculpture, and dance, among others, forms with which she was completely unfamiliar. She recalled the slow Terran calisthenic movements that Tai Kishihara had started to teach her on board _Stanek_, and wondered if that had any connection with dance. Perhaps this, too, could be seen as a function of precision and logic…

"Twenty minutes. There was a breakdown this morning and we're still backed up." The student at the order desk told her, indicating where she should pick up the finished disks. Saavik used the extra time to explore the ground floor of the library.

At this early point, serious studying had obviously not yet begun. There were only a few students scattered at terminals and tables, with some pairs and threes at the larger tables, and some were comfortably curled up on the floor. One of these had a stack of old-style bound books by his side. This piqued Saavik's curiosity; only then did she realize that an entire nearby wall was devoted to a historical display. The glass-fronted shelf cabinets contained hundreds of bound volumes in all sizes and bindings. She had handled books before, to be sure, but was a little alarmed at the idea of casually manipulating these fragile items.

Still, they were pleasing to behold. Saavik found herself gazing at titles. Some were in Standard, some in Vulcan, some in other modern Galactic languages. Most were in the root languages that had preceded them: Russian and English and Arabic; praka-Vulcan, Sintor, and Dahlatt; Chinese, Old Orion, and Portuspanish. She almost permitted herself to show how startled she was when her concentration was interrupted.

"May I assist you?" A cool voice addressed her, and Saavik turned to face a chunky, copper-haired Vulcan girl.

"I am admiring the variety of ancient books here", Saavik answered. "Perhaps you could tell me the meanings of some of the titles; I do not read the old languages, yet."

The other girl nodded. "A translations catalog is available at any terminal, but I can tell you what you wish to know." The girl was young, perhaps only a year or two older than Saavik, but extremely self-confident and cool in her manner. She read off, in Vulcan, the titles on the nearest shelf, and then looked at Saavik. "Have you a particular volume in mind?"

Saavik noticed the "Library Assistant" badge on the other's tunic. "No, I was merely…curious." The girl's eyebrows lifted.

"I see. Will you need any materials?"

"There are some disks I shall retrieve momentarily at the help desk."

"I am going in that direction. I processed the backlog just five minutes ago, and yours are no doubt ready now, with the rest." Saavik followed her to the desk, stared straight into the opti-scan, and received her sealed disk folders.

She nodded to the older Vulcan, who was looking at her penetratingly. "You have recently arrived on Akadem?"

"Yes, a little over one standard week ago."

"My name is T'Lili."

"I am Saavik."

She was aware that T'Lili's curiosity, if she would admit to such a thing, was increased, although her exterior remained quite correct, quite Vulcan, quite impassive. She knew that T'Lili must be pondering what kind of a family name that was for a Vulcan female. And this was _not_ something Saavik was ready to explain, least of all to a stranger.

"You are the student who arrived aboard _Stanek_ with Spock of Star Fleet?"

"Yes. I was on the ship receiving scientific instruction. Spock is my teacher." Immediately she knew she had committed the fault of boasting in the other girl's mind. T'Lili's expression was as bland as it could be.

"Spock is well-known here by reputation. If he is your mentor, you are indeed fortunate." T'Lili busied herself with a stack of disks to be recycled. "I was educated at the preparatory lower school of the Vulcan Science Academy. I intend to enter the meteorological survey department upon leaving Akadem. Are you slated to enter Star Fleet Academy and follow in your teacher's path?"

This girl certainly was curious, for a Vulcan. "That is a strong possibility," Saavik answered,

T'Lili's voice, though detached, bore a hint of reproof. "I would have great difficulty in choosing a career that would place me among so many emoting personalities. But perhaps _your_ mental disciplines are more strongly formed than are my own." Her expression indicated that she did not in fact believe this to be the case. It struck Saavik that although she admired Vulcan logic and control and intended to master it, she had to acknowledge the smugness even the best-educated Vulcans could show, that often led to xenophobic attitudes and words. While she had never met a _really_ racist Vulcan, she had met a number who made it quite clear that they were glad to keep humans and other emotional species at a long arm's length. She had seen this on _Stanek_ and saw that it was already developing in this still adolescent Vulcan.

"Vulcan ways can be explained to non-Vulcans, T'Lili," she ventured, "and it is not illogical to hope that the tempering of their emotional natures could be the result."

"No doubt," T'Lili seemed to give this only the briefest consideration. "Many Vulcans would think _that_ an undertaking unlikely to produce results." She looked at the younger girl intensely. Saavik wondered not for the first time if her mental shielding was adequate, or if T'Lili was able to sense her undisciplined thoughts. Already, this one was noticing too much about her… and the other Vulcans here would notice, too.

Vulcans were exactly like most other intelligent races in the cosmos in at least one respect: when in a foreign place, they sought each other out and congregated together and exchanged family names, perhaps not as noisily as did Klingons or humans, nor with the intensity of Deltans or Andorians, but with the intent to bond with others to whom they did not have to explain themselves. Saavik had seen Vulcan students engaged in fierce and polite argument while traveling between quads and classrooms and monocar stations. Her own instincts told her to avoid these gatherings; yet it was as a Vulcan that she identified herself here. As she had confirmed to T'Lili, her aim was towards service in Star Fleet. Thus it could only profit her career to mingle with all species. Spock had made it plain he desired her to identify herself as a Vulcan; but he had also provided her with the vision of tolerance and calm in which she had long understood the reason he was so highly respected among non-Vulcans in the Fleet and the Federation.

But this was not the time or the place for wandering thoughts. Saavik gathered her disks into her pack. "I thank you for your assistance," she said in Vulcan, receiving T'Lili's nod in return. Passing through the study area again, she saw that the number of hunched-over figures at the tables had increased somewhat. The boy with the stack of books still lounged on the floor, on his back, absorbed in a thick volume. Saavik unobtrusively sneaked a look at the title: Great Terran Science Fiction of the Pre-Contact Era. The boy caught her looking, and grinned amiably.

--

Saavik had heard it said that Hakat of Ledayn was an "original", and after her first class with him she thought she understood what that meant. Certainly his appearance was striking – eyes the color of light agates, with two crimson pupils to each; a tall, ungainly frame devoid of grace or balance. In class he had perched on a table, ignoring the formal lectern. The informality of his approach belied the clarity of his presentation, as he introduced the role of logic as the backbone of mathematics to this beginners' class. Although his remarks about symbolic logic were rather elementary to Saavik, she realized that she ought not to be deceived by this. From some things that both Carinne and Neill had told her, she knew that Hakat's courses were universally known as among the most difficult. In class, she had seen that many of the other students were visibly petrified, especially the humans – these had numerous problems with the logical systems on which mathematics depended, but Hakat appeared to be trying to woo them by clear teaching. They were all paying rapt and desperate attention. Saavik was sure that she would profit greatly from this man's instruction.

After class, Saavik returned to the quad to prepare for the next day. Leaving the arts disks for the moment, she absorbed herself in Federation history. She studied on the compu/desk terminal, quickly scanning the timelines of Earth, Vulcan, and Rigellian histories, noting as she did so how long each civilization had existed before becoming aware of the existence of other intelligent races. The human species had reached that point rather later than the others. Such ignorance tended to result, so the text read, in somewhat skewed ethical and social thinking. Saavik had remarked on this once to Mr. Spock, who had not unkindly pointed out that Saavik herself had had no knowledge of life outside her natal environment before the age of ten. The important thing, he had said, was the speed with which she had sucked in knowledge and awareness, language and thought processes. Along with the opening of the greater world she had found consciousness of self and others…not unlike the process that could happen to an entire culture, Spock had assured her.

"The later-aware cultures are not necessarily the cruder, less tolerant ones. Humans and other peoples have much to learn from other ones, as you do also, but your rate of learning shows that the ambition in a person or a culture will seek satisfaction – even as one does not yet, in fact, know what that ambition is."

So he had said. She thought about the space-mail received just yesterday from Spock. It had been short: the _Stanek_ was to conclude its surveys for the Vulcan Science Academy; he himself was to take an extended home leave on Vulcan; after that, there would be another special assignment for Star Fleet. He did not state it, but Saavik knew Spock's recent promotion to the rank of captain had not brought with it an actual command; perhaps this would now be remedied. She touched the shiny blue disk onto which she had saved his message. It was quite illogical, of course, but it seemed as if this tangible object were giving off reassurance.

--

As she walked from the monocar stop back to her quad the next day just after noon, Saavik's mind was still occupied with the points of the discussion that had taken place in history class that morning between the co-professors, Gur and Shawe. The students had been asked to evaluate the debate in which their instructors had purposely taken opposite points of view on the value of federated governments in administering large and far-scattered sections of the galaxy. It had been enlightening, and they had all spent more time in recording notes and enjoying the novelty of seeing two respected professors in heated, complicated argument, than in thinking of comments and critiques of their own. They had been asked to read numerous articles for the next class and to be prepared to summarize the connection between the articles and the points of today's debate. So Saavik was planning to do those readings tonight, and she arrived in the quad ready to study until both her history and her arts assignments were out of the way.

As she dropped her lightweight bag onto her bed she noticed a sheet of paper on her bedcover. Saavik picked it up; it was a note in the style of "official" quad announcements: _Jenner House Rules – Read and memorize._ Puzzled, she sat at her desk, paper in hand. She had not heard about any rules…

_1. Remember that the future of the United Federation of Planets depends on its younger generations getting along with each other. All of you in this House have the same privileges. This includes the exclusive right to tell jokes about your __**own**__ species/ethnic group; but you are permitted to laugh at all such jokes, provided that you give everyone else the same right concerning your species! If you are a student of blended heritage, you have all rights regarding jokes about any of your backgrounds._

_2. At communal mealtimes, there will be no throwing of food or utensils. The staff will accept any polite criticism of the food, but will not tolerate your making a mess. No, your maternal unit does not work here. Clean up your own mess._

_3. Parties in the quads are permitted as needed, any time of any day except during end-of-Quarter examinations. As regards any mess made in quads or hallways, see item 2 above. Have a great time, but respect the wishes of fellow-residents on either side of your quad._

_4. Members of the opposite gender (oh, yes, here we go again with this subject!) are __**not **__permitted permanent residency within the same quad. The management of Jenner House knows that some of you are routinely violating this rule or will do so sometime during the course of your stay here. What we don't know, we can't act on, can we._

_5. Any student complaints should be brought immediately to the Jenner House management. Complaints will be given all the attention they deserve. If management cannot be located in the Jenner House Office, please see at The Grub, last table in back by the kitchen."_

Saavik realized after the first "rule" that this was supposed to be… funny. She saw the names of the so-called management printed at the bottom of the sheet; they _were_ the legitimate student committee which oversaw the day-to-day running of the House: Jaime Rojon y Kresnovich, Fana Smith, Kazaba DeMille, Sovian. She was not impressed by their humor. It especially surprised her that the Vulcan Sovian would join in this rather lame joke. She hoped that this house would not have the frivolous atmosphere portended by this sheet of "rules".

Carinne laughed gently when she arrived shortly and was shown the paper. "That's something every new kid gets. Seriously, we have only a few rules: respect for others' persons, property, and safety. And privacy. That's the true part of those rules. The committee does a pretty fair job, actually, making sure that the food is edible, and that we have a great House party at least once a Quarter."

Saavik did not feel particularly thrilled at this, and her roommate knew better than to try to persuade a Vulcan that some levity was not out of place. She would learn among humans – whether or not she liked it! Carinne changed into an odd, draping white garment to go out with friends. Saavik began to study and Carinne left her alone, wishing for Saavik's sake that the Vulcan girl would soon find her own outlets from the pressures of classwork and competition.

Saavik watched her get ready out of the corner of her eye. Spock had urged her to reject nothing on its face, but to learn the customs of humans and others as well as she desired to learn her own. She wondered what Spock would make of the human tendency to joke about anything at all, no matter how serious. As many years as he had served on Federation starships, he _must_ have learned to cope with it, even to participate occasionally, or he would never have achieved the years of service he had. Pulling herself back to her history homework, Saavik doubted that she would ever be "one of the gang". It was enough that she was learning to live at close quarters with young human females – about sidestepping mounds of cast-off clothing in the bathroom, about the nuances of female dress and the mystery involved in achieving the most current hairstyle, about the complexities of popular music, about all the matters that the Galaxy thought important for young femininity… about competition among individuals and what was acceptable in any and all social interactions. She did not intend to yield or to change in any circumstances where her Vulcan ways already made sense to her. She hoped that Carinne understood this, and that no one would try to make a _human_ out of her.


	4. Chapter 4: Demons Exorcised

Author note: Characters, events, and other elements of this story which are found in the "Star Trek" continuum are the property of the writers for the television and motion picture episodes, or of the company that owns them; as concerns additional characters and planets and non-human races: while they are my own creation, I am taking no profit, monetary or otherwise, from their association with established Star Trek elements. This is purely for fun.

Chapter 4: Demons Exorcised

It was Baccara the trader with his bengat, the snarling creature she now knew was most like a Terran hyena... it came at her in its skulking, creeping fashion, while its Romulan master approached with a drunken swagger , reeking of Hellguard's cheap beer… and the cold, pale light of the planet's never-night threw shadows across the scars and pits of his face… and he was enjoying this, flaunting his advantage of size, reveling in the terror of a child crouched in the alley…

Saavik cast the rope and felt the tight coils wrap the trader's legs. She tugged, applied triangle-position leverage, and sent him staggering. Retrieving the line, she whirled it in time to whip a stranglehold around the bengat's throat as it leaped. Baccara's roar from behind her signaled a fresh attack which she met front-on. This time, the Romulan's bulk crashed to the ground. Saavik was set to pounce…

The light was suddenly very bright, and the slender girl was caught as in a still-action shot, one end of the rope still wrapped around her knuckles, the unwinding in slow turns from the training post. She blinked, still adjusting from the blue-lit world, in which this had not been a post but Romulan thug… The gymnasium's lights showed her a short, brown-skinned human with abundant golden hair, his hand still hovering by the palm control.

"It's so much easier to practice in the light, no?" It was the boy Saavik had seen reading on the floor in the library. He now came into the gym and looked around, giving curious attention to Saavik, who was coiling her _ahn-woon_ for another throw.

She was about to retort that for her eyes the security-level light had been quite sufficient, when he continued. "You don't have to worry about using this room after regular hours. India doesn't mind - and some of the instructors come out here at the weirdest hours to work out." He stripped off the green lab suit covering his workout shorts and hung it in a sonic-cleaning cubicle by the wall, then stopped. The girl was staring at him as if he had done something quite rude at a state dinner. Oh, of course… the Vulcan sense of privacy.

"Do you mind if I take a workout while you're in here?" The boy lifted his chin toward the holocubicle that held his fencing program.

Saavik did not know why he asked; this was a school gym open to all. If she could use its facilities in the evening, so could anyone else. Her grim fantasy was broken in any case; she would battle Baccara no more tonight. "There is room. You will not disturb me." She tested the coils in her hands and fixed her eyes once more upon the post. Though she could no longer purge her emotion and anger effectively in this bright light, following the discipline was the important thing. She cast her rope at the post, not looking any more at the human. She wondered briefly whether she should have introduced herself to him, since this was something humans did almost immediately upon meeting someone.

But the boy was paying no apparent attention. He had opened a case and removed a headpiece and a foil. For practice, he liked to remain as unencumbered as possible, and wore no body armor but stood to fight in just shorts and a light shirt. He switched on the activating field, programmed the console for medium difficulty to warm up for ten minutes and then to increase rapidly to Level Six within ten minutes after that.

The humanoid holo stepped toward him with the foil in its left hand as programmed. This was always a good challenge, and besides, his last opponent in the Upper Games had been an ambidextrous Tellarite who'd come damned close to downing him by switching the foil from hand to hand. He grinned at the memory; to be honest, he'd underestimated the skill that the other's hoof-like "hands" could exhibit. Fighting Dibrat had taught him a valuable lesson.

Working up to his ideal level of challenge, he felt all senses coming into sharpest focus. And to one side he could see the Vulcan girl casting methodically at the practice post; the regular, exactly equal "thwacks" ringing out as the _ahn-woon_ contacted and slung around the target. His attention was recalled when the holo's moves became more rapid. He responded, feeling the sweat of the workout, switching his own foil to his left hand from time to time to sharpen both his attack and his defense.

Saavik finished her one hundred and fifty throws and retrieved her rope. She wrapped its ample length around her waist and secured it with a hitch that could be loosened with a single short tug. Her sense told her it was nearly 2000 hours – ten o'clock. For a few minutes she watched the human's light, dancing battle with the holographic fighter. This was an activity she might want to practice her some day. Kishihara and Stelo on the _Stanek_ had taught her basics of Terran foil-fencing as well as aikido and the Vulcan fighting staff, _kohlet_. The _lirpa_, the axe-quarterstaff, was a heavier weapon and Saavik had not yet begun training with it.

The holo flickered and came to a halt in complete silence. The boy stepped back, keying the console to deactivate the program. Saavik realized that now she would probably have to talk with him. On Hellguard there had been many situations where it was best to retreat and not call attention to oneself; part of her still reacted with a kind of panic in new situations, even with all the self-control she had developed. Conversing with the adult scientists of the _Stanek_ had been easy compared with facing casual conversation with beings of her own age. In a group of students, she was fine; she could remain outside the conversation. But now, if the human chose to speak to her, she could not make such a retreat.

"I couldn't help noticing…" and the boy paused, "and I've got to say that I've never seen such a violent attack on a defenseless post before!" He grinned at Saavik but she only gave him a blank look. He told himself that he should have known better. He had Vulcan friends on Akadem, and he had assumed that he knew just how far he could tease them. "I wouldn't care to be on the wrong side of you, anyway."

His smile registered with her the fact that he must be joking. _Oh, Saavik_! After Hellguard, being among Vulcans had been such a complete, if soothing, change – and now the change to this planet of emotional and unpredictable beings was just as drastic. Nine days into her sojourn here, and she still knew so little; what she did not know about human peculiarities she did not think possible to learn in nine years. When did one ever know if they were being serious? The young females in her quad were impossible to fathom, the instructors in class not much better… She forced herself to pay attention.

"It is well to be trained and prepared," she answered the boy. "It may be that for me, hard fighting is a necessity, a matter of survival. Perhaps it is not so in your experience."" This was quite enough about her personal life! She decided to try a safer road, mere conversational banality. "My name is Saavik."

"I'm Tor Srimandan." He did not offer his hand, and Saavik was pleased. " I have been on Vulcan," he added warmly, packing up his headgear and hid foil. "That's a place I sure would like to revisit. But it seems odd you'd have to fight for your survival there; I mean, even during the _Kahs-wan_ you'd –"

Saavik cut him off in mid-sentence, aware of how rude this was in any culture, but suddenly angry at his innocent assumptions. "Your allusion to Vulcan is meant to be a subtle message that you are familiar with its ways and culture. Is that consistent with prying into one's personal life?"

"No offense intended, Saavik," Tor was stung but was successful in hiding it. Of course, she was correct to reprove him, but had he seen anger smoldering in her eyes? Poor self-control – in a Vulcan her age?

Reluctantly, Saavik admitted that the human had given the apology in good form. "No offense taken, Tor." She started for the door, thinking that at least this human's manners were adequate. How could she understand her own rage? How to explain that while Tor Srimandan had traveled widely in his young life, she had never been to either one of her Vulcan or Romulan "home" worlds? That her cultural diversity had come from reading and studying and from stories recounted by the crew of the _Stanek_? He knew her planet better than she did, apparently. But _her_ life was none of _his_ business.

Saavik turned before reaching the door and saw Tor still watching her with an odd look as he slipped back into his coverall and boots. "I truly didn't mean to pry," he said softly, hefting his bag and coming towards her. Saavik nodded, wondering what to say.

"Don't you have a jacket or something warm?" Tor opened the gym's outer door by the palm control.

"It is quite bracing and pleasant. My quarters are not far away, either," Saavik explained. The breeze was chillier than it had been when she arrived for her workout. Saavik felt an inner pleasure at the planet's varied climate; she had already decided that her favorite times were the evenings, with their constantly shifting winds. She could never get quite warm enough as a rule, but the subtle, cool feeling of running through the night air was just the right one after an evening workout. Even more perfect would be a slow walk back to her quad - alone. Perhaps the human sensed this.

"Saavik, look, I'm not following you…my quad is this way, too. If you'll walk with me, all right. If not…" Tor shrugged and began to move briskly while the girl felt a new respect for him. At least he did not "get his feelings hurt" for too long, as some other humans seemed to do so readily.

To reach any of the dormitories one had to cross the Main from the gym. Tor was right in his arch rebuke to her. She fell into step beside him, covering over half the hexagonal field before Tor finally asked, "So you're a brand-new student here?"

"I arrived nine days ago."

"You'll find out what's what pretty fast, don't worry." He caught himself, laughed without self-consciousness, and held up his hand. "I know! I know! Worry is illogical, T'Lemmi has told and told and _told_ me that… I mean, this place is like most other schools, same basic routines… and anyway, your Triad will help you get your bearings."

Actually, Saavik pondered, he was rather pleasant. She wondered if T'Lemmi, assumedly a Vulcan, really understood Tor, really was his _friend. _He certainly did like to talk, as did most humans. She promised herself not to be rude to him again unless severely provoked.

"What town did you come from?"

So much for casual conversation! She did not want to tell him any more than was necessary. "I came off the Vulcan science ship Stanek."

Tor was impressed. "I've heard of her! It's like this – I'm a second-year Upper, and I'm in pre-med. I want to get a ship appointment, preferably in Star Fleet, or a major trade line, or on a science corps ship. I'd love a chance at a ship like Stanek. What a deal, to _live_ on a vessel like that!"

Well, he obviously thought she was a "spacer", a child born and raised on shipboard. Maybe that would be enough for him, would satisfy his curiosity. Saavik saw some truth in his misinterpretation, however: before her travel on the ship, she had had no background. She _had_ been "raised" on board ship.

As Tor walked beside her, his short shadow overlapped and doubled her longer one as they passed under the Main's security float-lights. They reached the northern lip of the Main and took the path between Science Beta and Science Gamma buildings. Tor kept up his amiable conversation.

"For me, I'd rather just go on board a ship and stay there forever. Probably grow old and retire and die in space, too! A ship's as good as a planet for me."

"Would not most humans miss a planet's air and climate and seasons?" Saavik knew only of humans who constantly and maniacally alternated between romancing about space and wishing they were back home. But Tor laughed, a short laugh to show he was not mocking her.

"My home planet was the Shushila space station around Sol's Uranus. Being closed in and protected from space is natural for me. My mother's people back for nine generations are engineers in deep space; Mom's carrying on the tradition right now. My father was from Earth but came out to do research, met my mother, and never went back. He's dead now." Tor recounted this family history as if he'd recited it many times. Saavik wondered if all humans could speak of death so calmly; she thought not, but realized she lacked sufficient data. She did not intend to match Tor's recital with one of her own. And if he knew Vulcan ways as well as he implied he did, he would not ask.

He passed the test by not alluding any more to personal matters. As they parted, with Saavik turning to the west to Jenner House, Tor to the east, he said, smiling, "It was good to meet you, Saavik. Sweet dreams!"

She had already opened her mouth to remark that dreams had no flavor when she remembered the vast amount of slang and picturesque language used in the Standard tongue, and felt foolish. "Good night, Tor. A good rest to you as well."

Jogging back to Jenner House and passing the voice-scan security at the back entrance, Saavik was mentally reviewing the many new insights of the past week – new impressions of people, both pleasant and distasteful; some confirmation, in the person of T'Lili, of her expectations from her fellow-Vulcans; the satisfaction of contemplating the workings of fine minds like Hakat's, purely engaged in logic; above all, the unpredictability of humans. Indeed, there was yet so much to absorb. Her life so far had had its learning moments but those had involved learning to survive, no more…

Sometimes those moments became quite concrete, as they had in the battle with Baccara, the drunken trader, the phantom in the gym. It was not logical. It was, however, very real.

Saavik climbed the steps. Through the half-cylinder of plexi that formed the stairwell's outer wall she saw the still-unfamiliar constellations of Akadem. There was a triangle pointing up, the apex star a dull blue. A blue star, in a different formation, had been her dream-focus on Hellguard. When the planet's dirty cloud cover parted from time to time, she had seen the cool, sharp blueness so far above her, so untouched by pain or loneliness, so far from the dreadful life she lived. She had then understood nothing about space, nothing about imagination or the images of literature. The blue star was just there. The important thing was, for her, that it was far, far away from Hellguard.

She slipped into the quad and found her way without difficulty through the darkness in the common room, into her bedroom. Carinne was asleep: Saavik could hear her even breathing. She undressed and used the sonic shower in their shared bathroom, making as little noise as possible. A light showing at the side of the door from the other bedroom told her that Neill was still awake… at her computer, no doubt. Curious: she had thought humans would be so alike, and yet one of her quadmates seemed driven to an obsessive overwork, while she had yet to see Carinne at her compu/desk since moving in with her! More puzzles, Saavik! She hoped that soon the answers would start to sort themselves out.


	5. Chapter 5: Expectation

Author note: Characters, events, and other elements of this story which are found in the "Star Trek" continuum are the property of the writers for the television and motion picture episodes, or of the company that owns them; as concerns additional characters and planets and non-human races: while they are my own creation, I am taking no profit, monetary or otherwise, from their association with established Star Trek elements. This is purely for fun.

Chapter 5: Expectation

Luine Kai-Mekelen bit into a poine fruit that lay atop the basket balanced on her compu/desk widescreen. Also on the desk were three boxes of datadisks, a tightly coiled brass musical instrument, a mysterious green canvas bag, and thirteen neatly folded coveralls, identical except in their colors. The bed was covered with sports gear, sandals, bags, and stuffed animals. A bucket of assorted tools and gadgets stood on the floor by Luine's feet. She surveyed her new paradise, looked at the other side of the room, the side that presumably belonged to her as yet unseen roommate.

Sighing, she observed, "Neat… neat… neat. Obsessive-compulsive, I'd say. Holy Pali, am I in for it." She ate the rest of the fruit, the core, and the stem.

Her parents, two gray-clad, tired-looking humans standing in the doorway between the common room and their daughter's bedroom, glanced at each other. "Luine…", her mother said, "our shuttle is in forty minutes, but if you - "

"OK then – I'll be all right, I'll put it all away myself, don't worry. And I'll keep Lady Compulsive from crucifying me… somehow. And I'll meet the other girls in the quad soon enough, maybe they'll help me get started." She assumed her best confident expression. Actually, it had been a relief to see when she arrived in the quad that none of the other girls was here. There would be some time to talk herself into seeing this place as home from now on, before the arrival of any unpleasant surprises. Even as she felt the dreadful, unbidden tears creeping up on her, she waved her parents away. "Go on, the next shuttle isn't till tomorrow, if you miss this one, I'll bet."

"This is such an important day for you, Lu," her father said gently, doubt in his voice, as if he really wanted to delay saying good-bye to his only daughter. "We'd like to stay a night and see that you're settled…"

"Look, Pop, most kids aren't even brought here by their parents! Ms. Kyllie said so, remember? So, thanks – but you've done more than you needed."

"_Needed?_" Raimundo Kai-Mekelen threw his arms around her. He was a kind-faced man, as gray with his spacer's unhealthy complexion as were his clothes. "Lu, there is no way we would not have come. Even if Kaynes had been on the other side of the sector! Bara and Gien wanted to come, too, but their shipping contracts aren't as flexible as ours. But they promised they'd visit when they could."

"I know." She untangled one of her father's arms and drew her mother into the family embrace. Oh, they were wonderful people, Raimundo and Bettie - for grownups - and Luine felt the pang growing stronger at the prospect of possibly not seeing them for years. But they'd been right. Akadem was a step towards _their_ kind of life. Never again would her life be bounded by the bourgeois bubble-settlements of an airless planet in the boring stage of the terraforming process. "Come on, Pop, Mama – space calls!"

They hugged her again, gave her a typical burst of last-minute parental advice, and walked off down the Jenner House hall with the light, determined step of veteran spacers. Mama would go back to the _Lara Zhivago_ next week, Pop to the Andorian station for a short mineral survey contract. Luine nudged her bundles aside with her foot and sat down on her bed. Bara had been to school here and had excelled in _everything._ The perfect son. She was _not _intending to follow in his footsteps… which made her think of Gien, which in turn made her face break out in smiles. He was the younger of her brothers and had hopped a freighter one day last year and thus escaped G-77. No one would call him a genius, but in Luine's book he was brilliant for his resourcefulness. She decided that Gien was the one she'd rather see first, if she had any choice.

Just looking at the fruit basket her mother had brought almost undid her. If she started to cry now… then Ms. Neatbutt would probably pick just that moment to waltz in. No good, that. Luine stared out the plexi window at the clusters of students on the walks between the science buildings, stared and then began to think calming thoughts. Ah, much better.

As hour later, the sports stuff and the clothes and the odds and ends were stowed in place. Luine changed into a silver coverall and, with the fruit in easy reach, sat at her compu/desk to familiarize herself with its workings. It was pretty standard Atlas-QS programming, actually. Her friends Dobry and Peter had a slicker, faster one at home, in fact. Home…no, home was _here_ now, on Akadem. _Stupid! Haven't you been boring everyone half to death since you were four, talking about "going out there"? And some kids come out here to Akadem or other school planets when they're ten, or even younger. Get off it, Lu! _

"Luine Kai-Mekelen, miserable human wretch and unrecognized genius," she scolded herself out loud, "do us all a favor and don't be a schmo." No one had ever warned her that her high expectations of what "going out there" might be a teensy bit inflated. No one had said anything about twelve being too young to be sent away from her tiny planet, for which Luine was actually grateful. It was so different not to be treated like a baby.

Even her Wahine Nui (as her grandma was called) had talked to her only about the adventure of space travel, though the absolutely _only_ time she'd done it was in the way-back of family history, when she'd come out from Earth as a mail-order bride for her first husband, Luine's "Nonno Filippo". It was kind of sad that Wahine Nui was now the only one of her close family still stuck on G-77, "retired" in a big flowered airchair. She'd have to send her loads of warp-mails.

Luine chewed on a zubaya – her mother said it was the Andorian version of a banana – and flipped through her disks. Rough Descent…Unchained Heaven… Filiz Toto's Desperation Ecstasy Machine. And music holos. Ancient Earth ukulele music, too. And a sneak gift from Dobry – the new Warp Poker program. He'd said this would be absolutely NOT to live without; you had to be able to play poker if you were a spacer. Dobry's papa was an expert and had won tons of money off starship officers and such. Poker won out. Luine slid the disk into the console's slot and was soon engrossed.

--

It was Saavik who returned first. The meeting with her Triad had been at once illuminating and confusing. She hoped to meditate in her bedroom if Carinne were not there, and seek to analyze the advice and information given her by her group. As she understood the system, each student's advisors determined the initial years of study and then guided the later years, when her course would presumably be well-launched. Dr. Macmillan had already set her curriculum in consultation with Spock . Today's meeting had been held to acquaint Saavik with the rest of her Triad: the Vulcan healer Sunek and an older student, Nureg Dabourian.

The Vulcan had not spoken much. Saavik wondered what he knew of her background; whether his inattention to her stemmed from contempt or from lack of interest. He would, of course, be too civilized to ignore her completely, but a Vulcan has many ways to show distinct displeasure. She sensed her own shame at her mixed blood and suspected that Sunek knew more than she wished him to know about her situation; yet she remained calm. On Hellguard, confronted by a similar attitude from the survey party – all but one! – Saavik had been devastated… but she had learned much since then. Under the circumstances, Sunek was quite correct to resent what she represented. Her bearing towards him, however, must at all times be respectful due to his knowledge and position.

As for Nureg Dabourian, she was an Upper division human who had spent the greater part of the conference listening, and who had at the end inquired politely whether she might walk with Saavik as far as the Main. Saavik had never seen a human dressed as Dabourian was, in a floor-length maroon and black robe with trailing sleeves and a head-wrap that spiraled up and out from her forehead, and a jewel set in each nostril. Saavik had certainly noticed that the human species possessed a much greater skin color variation than did the Vulcan, ranging from the deepest blue-black to a white so without pigment that the irises were almost pink from the capillary network under their surface. Most humans were brownish like Dabourian, or a ruddy pink. The green and blue variations among Vulcans and Andorians were rather uninteresting in comparison.

"Vulcans do not shake hands or touch others?" Dabourian had inquired as they walked together. On Saavik's affirmative reply, the older girl had smiled. "My people have a salute that extends wishes of peace without intruding." She stopped and demonstrated, touching in rapid succession her forehead, lips, and breast. "My given name is Nureg, but I prefer to be more formal here, which I hope does not offend you."

Saavik replied that it did not; whatever were Dabourian's reasons, they were her own; for herself, Saavik liked having one name by which she was known to all.

On the whole matter of friendliness and unfriendliness… Saavik thought about this some more during the rest of her walk back to the residence hall. In her own quad she could see these two extremes in the persons of Carinne and Neill. She had already overheard a quarrel between them in the common room while at her compu/desk.

Carinne had been cool, her voice soft and gliding; Neill had cut with her words – yet neither committed the indignity of raising her voice the way Saavik had noticed humans usually did when they argued. Apparently these two knew a great deal about each other. Carinne had said finally, "All right, _Professor_ Gallaghan, prove me wrong. We all know where we stand in our disciplines… but I have the grace to admit when I'm in deep space in _mine._" From that, Saavik had assumed they had been discussing some point of history; that was Carinne's field, while Neill knew her computers inside and out. She had not commented on the disagreement and did not intend to mix into the humans' personal disputes.

Saavik entered the quad and heard regular blip-blip sounds coming from Neill's bedroom. This was, unmistakably, that peculiar form of noise that passed for music among many humans here. She checked her room. Carinne was not there… but there would obviously not be enough quiet for meditation in the quad. One of the cubicles off the corridor would have to do. As she turned to leave, her curiosity slowed her down; it was contrary to everything she knew about Neill Gallaghan to accept that she would be playing that insane kind of music or wasting her time playing interactive popvid games in the middle of a school afternoon… or anytime. She knew that their one remaining quadmate must have arrived. Carinne had said this might be the day.

Sure enough, a fluffy brown head whirled around as Saavik tapped firmly on the bookcase that formed the wall between the bedroom and the common area. The girl looked young, very young, her eyes wide, first startled then alight with interest.

"Hi! You surprised me! Are you my roommate?"

"No, I am in the other room. My name is Saavik."

"Mine's Luine Kai-Mekelen – call me Luine or Lu, whichever you like. Who's…" and she pointed with her chin at the other bed in the room.

Saavik gazed around from the neat, even-cornered bedspread on Neill's bed and the perfectly aligned personal effects and the unadorned wall, to the pile of colorful objects of unknown nature on Luine's bed, the silver boots flung half under the bed, the jumble of cassettes, fruit, and bangle bracelets on the compu/desk. She wondered what kind of understanding – if any - would arise from the meeting of these two young women. The same speculation was obviously passing through Luine's mind; her expression was apprehensive as she waited for Saavik's answer.

"Her name is Neill Gallaghan. She is, I believe, sixteen or seventeen of your years old. She is a Middle division student."

Luine seemed even less comfortable now. With a dramatic sigh she declared, "Saavik, I am _twelve_ years old and have just been dumped here by my dear Mama and Pops for the next eight years or so. And it's all my own fault because I have wanted to go out into space since I was a baby."

Saavik waited, fascinated despite herself at what might happen next, totally in the dark as to what the other girl was trying to say. She thought she spied the telltale moisture that humans formed in their eyes when emotionally uncontrolled. But Luine laughed suddenly. "I'm _not_ going to cry. I've got what I always wanted!" Now it was her turn to speculate. She said frankly, "Saavik, you're a Vulcan, aren't you? _You _probably think I'm nuts."

Such direct and blunt remarks might at other times have provoked an icy response, but Saavik saw that Luine was merely curious. For all her years-long planning to "go out into space", this child had had little contact with those not of her kind and thus had few pretenses in the face of new cultures and people.

Saavik spoke carefully. "It is true that I have Vulcan heritage. It is also true that too much emotion and too many words are a cause of waste and illogic. However, I do understand that the first day in a new environment might cause unusual stress."

Again, that delighted laugh. "Oh, the stress was mostly on my family! But come on in, Saavik, sit down already. Or aren't Vulcans allowed to relax?" At the stiffening of the other girl's posture, Luine looked anxious. "Oh, gee, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to insult you or anything…" Saavik walked in and sat quietly on the straight chair pulled from in front of Neill's desk. A long conversation with Luine was not exactly what she had planned; she needed to meditate. However, she remembered what Spock had emphasized so often: "While the human propensity for illogic and confused thinking seems limitless, it is worthwhile to observe them with compassion. There are lessons to be learned in how these inherently divided, inconsistent beings cope with life… and quite well, in fact." Observing Luine might give her some insights not yet gained from either Carinne or Neill.

Luine switched off her terminal and jiggled one bare foot on the opposite knee. "I guess you've figured out that I never knew any Vulcans, just know a little from books and programs. You look a lot older than me."

"I am – by your measures – thirteen years old. By Vulcan standards, I am more of a child than you are." She did not want to continue the discussion into any personal or family matters, and did not ask Luine where she had come from. Instead, she let the other girl do all the talking, which Luine did in a distressingly lengthy and fluent manner. Saavik kept her own reactions brief and barely informative. Now Luine was expressing her apprehensiveness about starting classes.

"I'm supposed to go to meet these advisors tomorrow and I guess they're gonna put me right into the grinder." To Saavik's blank expression, she laughed grimly. "I was not exactly a prime student on G-77 – good enough for Lower division entry but I'm only going into second year instead of third. You're in third year, right?"

"Yes, but I will be making the change to fourth after the second Quarter, if my plan works out." Saavik saw the shake of the head, the look of resignation.

"See? Well, if you forget anything, just come to me. I'll have all the lower level basic texts there are, in every subject. I guess Vulcan schools are a whole lot better than good old G-77 Remote Learning…"

"My school had intensive preparation." Saavik did not mention that in her school she had been the only pupil and had done the equivalent of six years' work in three, under some of the finest Vulcan scientists. Luine merely nodded.

"There you are. Advantages. You'll probably be out of here in record time." Suddenly bored – or too uncomfortable – with the subject of academics, Luine waved at her pile of game discs. "Do you play – vids, chess, gambits?"

"Chess. I have studied other strategy games – go, Kezet. If you wish to play sometime, I am willing," she replied. In fact, Saavik was quite pleased at the idea of a chess match; it was the first game Spock had taught her after Old Maid. She had meant to ask Carinne or Neill if they played; it was a surprise to her that this light-spirited girl also showed an interest. She wondered how firm Luine's strategy would be, how sound her knowledge. Still, a challenge was a challenge.

There was an interruption as the outside door slid open, and Luine sat up. Why, she seems _afraid_, Saavik realized. And then Neill stood in the bedroom entry, sweeping the scene with a slow, cool stare.

"Oh. Hello, Saavik, I didn't expect you here." The tone indicated a certain annoyance, as if Saavik had broken quad etiquette by being in her room. Then Neill looked Luine up and down, while Luine took her roommate's measure, though not in half as confident and or arrogant a manner. "And you're the new one."

"Luine Kai-Mekelen. And you're Neill Gallaghan." She tried to make it sound as if she knew all there was to know about a certain Neill Gallaghan.

"Yes. Excuse me -" and Neill slipped her carryall into its place between the compu/desk and the foot of the bed. This meant that Saavik had to move over, and she simply rose from the chair and turned to leave. "Oh, you don't have to go," Neill said in a tone that indicated quite the opposite. The older girl once more swept the lively and disorganized scene - Luine, her belongings, the whole messy side of the small room. "I see that you're all settled in. May I ask how old you are?"

"Twelve."

"_Lovely._ We're going to have a grand time this year."

"Yeah. _I _am, anyway." Luine was getting heated. Coming here was a great idea. Putting her in with this robot was not. Maybe Neill was the _real_ Vulcan here? "I am a double major in paleolinguistics and archaeobotany. I study all night and go to parties all day." This pack of lies was rewarded with the frankest look of loathing she had ever seen on another human face - and with a curious one on the face of the Vulcan girl who still stood by the doorway.

Neill turned her back on her new roommate, immediately dismissing her from thought, and sat down without preamble at her computer station. In a moment, the screen was a jumble of symbols of Kantorian higher algebra. Luine stared at this from her side, then shrugged her whole body. Saavik could see the loneliness of the child's face and guessed that there might be an emotional display after all, though probably not until after Luine was alone somewhere, in the bathroom for instance. That was her affair, of course. Saavik was not inclined or equipped to offer comfort. She herself found Neill bearable, remaining quiet and barely responsive in her presence, as Neill did in hers.

However, just before leaving the room, Saavik caught her young quadmate's eye for a moment, lifting her brows slightly. "Let us have a game of chess later."

Luine nodded and forced a small grin. _That Vulcan girl is OK_, she thought.

Saavik left the quad at last, finding her meditation cubicle at the L-shaped joining of two corridors. Once inside, she began to focus her thoughts, seeking the pattern in the day, beginning with the morning's conference...


	6. Chapter 6: Sideline Observations

Author note: Characters, events, and other elements of this story which are found in the "Star Trek" continuum are the property of the writers of the television/motion picture episodes and commercially published novels, or of the company that owns them; as concerns additional characters and planets and non-human races: while they are my own creation. I am taking no profit, monetary or otherwise, from their association with established Star Trek elements. This is purely for fun.

Chapter 6: Sideline Observations

Saavik made a plausible excuse for not going to the Jenner House party that night, and took a walk past the triangular park between the residence and the library. Although she had a number of topics she could have researched there, she did not go to the library but turned instead toward the row of bungalows that flanked the Science complex in a serpentine pattern to the west. This was faculty housing, much less institutional-looking than were the student facilities.

Someone was on his knees on the grass in front of the second building in the line. Saavik recognized the white-haired man who looked up and waved as Dr. Howard Brady, the philosophy professor to whom Spock had introduced her on her first day here. She stopped to watch his industrious and optimistic grubbing in the gray soil. The late afternoon sun no longer reached to his plot of earth.

"Fenichellia bulbs. Do you know this flower?"

She shook her head, acutely aware that she knew nothing of plants beyond what a basic botanical textbook might contain. The mysterious gray mounds that indicated bulbs already safely bedded crisscrossed the ground. "What will they look like?"

"What will they look like! Young lady, you may look out of any of the facing buildings three weeks from now and see a veritable rainbow of blossoms – about half a meter tall, like magnified snowflakes on stalks. All colors, even green and brown!"

He certainly was enthusiastic, stopping to dig and set, cover and smooth over, and slide over to the next spot with mathematical precision, even as he described the fenichellia to Saavik. She did not want to tell him that she had never seen either a rainbow or a snowflake. "I shall enjoy seeing them bloom."

Dr. Brady glanced up again, pleased. "Saavik, isn't it? Your mentor is an old acquaintance of mine. I'm very glad to see him every once in a while at philosophical conferences. You have an excellent guardian."

Saavik was pleased herself at the praise for Spock, but did not know what she was expected to say. "I am curious, Dr. Brady. May I ask a question?"

"Surely." Brady sat back on his heels and paid full attention to the Vulcan girl.

"You are a professor of ethics and philosophy, yet you live here on the Science complex... I also notice that a number of the students living in my House are not in the scientific disciplines."

"They do mix us all together," he explained with a smile. "Housing is allotted to faculty as it becomes available. And after years of segregating students exclusively according to their disciplines, and making each complex a little world of its own, a ghetto if you will, the Akadem authorities finally decided that it was a lot more in keeping with the 'real world' of our galaxy to assign about ten percent of quad space to students in outside disciplines."

"I see." Saavik had wondered how Carinne, a history specialist, had wound up living with three science students. Somehow she had not yet felt sufficient intimacy with her quadmates to pry into their life plans. "Thank you for the explanation."

"Why, you're welcome, Saavik," replied Brady, a little surprised at how formally and punctiliously the girl had thanked him. "Just look out of your window. Three weeks, remember!"

--

At the end of the line of faculty buildings, Saavik saw the gleaming long rectangle that was the boat basin, and groups of picnickers beneath the pavilions to the south of the water, as she turned to walk toward the Main. Passing the gym, she slowed down for a group just emerging from the building carrying bags of athletic equipment. From their loud conversation she learned that they were headed for a "friendly" polocrosse match with a team from one of the towns on the periphery of the Akadem school network. Saavik had already heard of the running battles between "Akademians" (the permanent residents of the towns who were not employed by or connected with the school) and "Akademniks" (everyone else). To her, the amount of energy and emotion expended in settling grudges and old rivalries was absolutely pointless and illogical. The group, however, did not seem bothered with anything more cerebral than beating the tar out of their opponents. Why should they worry about the disapproval of one lone Vulcan girl? Saavik sighed.

The sun was setting and two of the planet's moons were up and nearly full in phase.

The white and red disks hung low in the east. Saavik looked for her blue triangle-point star. It was a bit of sentiment she indulged in herself when alone during the early evenings. The star was not visible yet, but the sky was that clear, limpid cerulean that made her wonder why one would ever want to go inside.

Returning to her dormitory, Saavik could hear the party in swing, with some voices carrying above the din in truly ridiculous lyrics. The "music" sounded like Luine's but louder by a factor of ten. Going upstairs, she was relieved to find the quad empty, and set her disks next to the terminal. She was ready to study. Speaking her voice code to activate the computer, she found the message Carinne had left her: "Sorry you're missing the party. But I understand! Want to go tomorrow night to a really nice place? Meet interesting people."

Was she being _too_ exclusive of others? After all, if Saavik was here to learn academically, she was here just as much to receive an informed sociological education. Going somewhere with Carinne would not hurt; it would give her an opportunity to talk with her human roommate and learn from her, since Carinne seemed a pleasant and tolerant person who would be patient with a non-human. Knowing Carinne might be in late, Saavik tapped in a note accepting the offer, sent it to her roommate's terminal, and got to work.

--

Downstairs, Luine was already making a hit with her older companions. She had brought along her brasshorn and was playing a variety of marching tunes which little Bradley Franks had promptly identified as 20th-century Earth music, explaining almost apologetically, "Not much to do back home. We had hundreds of those old music 'videos' and even some kind of vinyl discs, and some stuff on reels." This impressed Luine. She had thought she was the youngest in Jenner House but Brad had to be a couple of years younger. He had been set up on top of one of the tables so her could see everything, and was swinging his legs nonchalantly. Someone stepped over to them – Sovian, the older Vulcan who was president of the Jenner House Student Committee.

"Luine, Bradley, what are you drinking?" His tone was neutral, almost friendly, but both kids knew they had better have the correct answer. Luine replied hastily, "Ginger beer, OK?"

"Same here," Brad Franks agreed. They knew that according to school rules children under fourteen were not to consume recreational drugs or alcoholic substances at official parties, and that it was the duty of the Committee to make sure the rule was not violated... _too_ often. In Jenner House, the presence of a Vulcan on the Committee meant that when he was in charge the rule was _never_ circumvented. Sovian himself did not drink, did not criticize those who did so in moderation, but was adamant about the youngsters' sticking to fizzes and other mild beverages.

Sovian looked at them kindly. "Enjoy the party. It will be going on late; do not forget classes in the morning."

After he left them, the two sat together and were soon joined by Holly Pitone, a shy child about Luine's age. She was in a couple of classes with her but hadn't noticed anything special about her so far.

"You're new, right? It's my second Quarter, so I'm really an expert." Holly laughed, obviously feeling quite the opposite. Luine's interested expression reassured her, and Bradley's face showed only earnest friendliness. "I never went to many parties at home."

"I _never_ went," Brad confessed in an offhand manner, "only to real adult ones. And then they'd make me sit where my father could keep an eye on me."

Holly said, "Sort of like here, huh?" and cocked her head in Sovian's direction. They all laughed.

They wondered if all three of their lives had unfolded much the same way: life on a small research station or in a hard-pressed, underpopulated colony; the youngest or only children of doting parents who could give them the necessities of life but not much more, especially not the luxuries of vacations or summer camps or large numbers of friends their own age. Hours spent around adults had resulted either in precocity or in restless boredom. Being dropped onto a populated and lively place like Akadem didn't teach you all you had missed all at once; Luine and Bradley were still shy of the boisterous crowd at this party; even Holly, the veteran, seemed relieved that she could just sit and talk with others like her. She started telling her new friends what she knew about the others passing before their view.

"AiAnn – she's really our age, she goes everywhere with her companion Tion. I mean, until they're older, then they'll have male companions, even in their quads." To Luine this was a ridiculous idea and she said so. "But that's the way it has to be for Deltans," Holly countered. "It's just like with humans till puberty, and then, pow! It hits them. They can live girls with girls and guys with guys till then, but then suddenly they have to pair up guy and girl or they actually get sick and weird, even die." Brad nodded sagely.

"So there are special rules for them in the quads?" Luine remembered the comical "rules" flyer she had received shortly after her arrival.

"Pretty much. Say – there's Nureg Dabourian." Holly's voice indicated great respect for the tall young woman in the gold-threaded floor-length gown, who had swept into the room unescorted, but immediately blended into the crowd. "She's one of the older students who'll stop and talk with a Lower." The others made a note of this. While few of the Upper and fewer of the Middle division students were really unfriendly or rude, the younger children were expected to learn in a hurry and to keep out of their way when they could not.

They all knew Sovian, of course, and Jaime with his jaunty raven-black braid; Gauni d'Iste glowing mauve in a navy uniform-type aircycle jacket; Bum Smith with his legendary perpetual hangover, already leaning against a wall; Carinne arm-wrestling an older boy in an extremely friendly way... "That's Miller DeMott," Holly explained, "pre-med student." She leered a little in Luine's direction. "You'll probably be seeing a lot of _him_ in your quad."

"Oh, I get it." Luine thought, _Someone was going to bring a guy home, sometime. It sure won't be me – and I'll bet tribbles to tankinis that neither will Saavik or Neill. _"Who's that over there?"

Holly went on giving details to the newcomers. They had long since done with their ginger beers, had eaten all the munchies within reach, and had sat through all of the dancing so far. The dancing itself was made up of elaborate body-shaking and exaggerated high-kicking, sometimes between pairs and more often among groups of three, four, or more. The general attention was now focused on Kazaba DeMille and a being Luine described later in a letter to her Wahine Nui, as "weird, weirder, weirdest", someone who moved all at angles and elbows, while his partner fairly flowed and glided around him. She whirled in dizzying eddies, a tiny dark blur, the pale yellow gauze billowing out from her sleeves giving her the aspect of a black-and-sunshine butterfly circling a wooden post. The pulsar-lights caught both her fluttery beauty and her partner's metallic-glinting eyes.

"_That _is Komet" - Holly pronounced it as Koh-met' - "We haven't see him much lately, he lives in another complex. Either 'Zaba invited him, or Jaime did."

"What's the matter with him?"

"Nothing's the _matter_ with him at all. He's just not built for dancing. Passing him on the mover or in the halls, you probably wouldn't notice." Holly shrugged.

Brad stared at the stiff antics of the student named Komet, then quizzically at Holly. "What're you talking about, _built_ ?"

"Oh, well... he's a Sallusan, didn't you ever hear about them?" Holly was, of course, ready to tell all, but this time Brad got there first.

"Yeah, I have – they're liquid, right? So that's an android body he's got? The real Komet is inside there, sloshing around?"

"Yeah! I don't know how they do it, but it works, and he can get around and mix with everyone else with a regular body."

"Looks like he enjoys – uh, mixing, with Kazaba anyway," Luine observed. "Actually, he looks sort of Vulcan. I never thought of Vulcan androids."

Holly laughed, "Sure there are. Anyone can build androids. The Vulcans must have got the contract to build the Sallusans their bodies when they started traveling around the galaxy. So, I guess they added the ears and the green tint without second thought."

Somehow, this touch seemed just a little too vain to be Vulcan; Luine shook her head. "Maybe it was the Sallusans who looked through all the catalogs and picked out the best bodies for endurance or whatever. Who knows, they might just like Vulcan looks." She must tell Saavik about the Sallusans, she thought.

"Uh-huh, sure. Well... Komet is in a Vulcan body all right, but the Sallusans behave a lot more like humans. I mean, Komet likes to go to parties, even the big dances, and he gets along with just about everybody." Holly lowered her voice. "He even has a really serious girlfriend."

"Who? 'Zaba?" Brad tried to imagine the dancing couple as lovers or companions and suppressed an adolescent giggle. She'd probably fly away and leave him still putting one foot in front of the other, Vulcan body or no.

"No, no, no, there's a Troyian kid over in Cochrane House, Lalami sonething-or-other. She's only twelve! And you always see them together. Except that tonight is her ancestor-vigil night in the chapel, some religious thing with her people, and there was this party, which there's no reason for him to skip."

Luine felt that her head was a porridge of new information that Holly was stirring up constantly. Brad seemed to be literally taking notes in his steel-trap mind.

Someone approached from the side – Carinne. "Having fun?" She gave Luine a half-concerned look. Neill really wasn't doing much to help her roommate get adjusted to Akadem. "Do you want to come out and meet some of the people who've just got here?"

"Sure, OK. Let's get some more to drink, too." She and Holly followed Carinne into the heart of the party where was located the live-music accompaniment to the piped-in Pikili-rock – a set of Valian drums and the bronze gong played by Hau'ri, a young Tellarite. Brad tailed along and remained at Hau'ri's side, more interested in the instruments than in the general proceedings. Luine had left her brasshorn in the corner – just as well, since it was not really compatible with the other instruments.

_Holy Pali, _Luine told herself, _this will be one hell of a good letter to Wahine Nui or brother Gien – no, better yet, to Dobry. Good old Dobry, he'll want to come here, too, and he'll get himself lost or spacejacked on the way. He can't find a straight line around a brick-shaped asteroid._ She thought of telling it all to Gien after all, but suspected that his own space adventures would make her planet-bound experiences seem lame in comparison.

Luine did not say much to the older students, just exchanged looks with Holly. They both held in their giggles. These kids were trying to act like grownups: the beer, the vague purple smoke of some rec-drug in the corner, the stiff and plastered Bum Smith still holding up his section of the wall... and the loud talk that sounded like a junior version of the same old boring homeworld cocktail party...

"I'll tell you a secret." Holly muttered to her, "this is the first real party I've been to. I didn't even set a toe in one, last Quarter."

Luine Kai-Mekelen grinned and slanted her eyes over towards the exit. "Who needs this. I'd actually like to go... but what's there to do anywhere else?'

"You could always _study._" The idea sounded positively horrifying to Holly Pitone. "Come on... This is part of our education!"


	7. Chapter 7: What One Can Learn

Author note: Characters, events, and other elements of this story which are found in the "Star Trek" continuum are the property of the writers of the television/motion picture episodes and commercially published novels, or of the company that owns them; as concerns additional characters and planets and non-human races: while they are my own creation. I am taking no profit, monetary or otherwise, from their association with established Star Trek elements. This is purely for fun.

Chapter 7: What One Can Learn

**a. **All you had to do to get into Zephyr's on a weekend evening was to show up reasonably sober. On school nights, access was checked on a terminal by the ubiquitous Stosh Petrow, who blocked the doorway with his Rottweiler. If a student had classes scheduled before 0900 hours the next day, he or she was given a two-hour pass; Stosh's terminal would alert him when anyone's two hours ran out and that would be that. Back to the dorm. There were complaints right and left, but Stosh knew his system worked. No hung-over students would be nodding off in class if _he_ had anything to do with it! He had been on Akadem long enough to have become An Institution. New students were dragged to Zephyr's and taught the rules; the next time, they would not have to be dragged. Those who did not learn the rules were left to find their entertainment elsewhere. Furthermore, the faculty knew they could trust Stosh not to be the kind of barkeep who pushed people to drink, and so his establishment was not only tolerated but patronized by them as well.

Zephyr's was filling up as survivors of the day's classes emerged from the monocars hardly in a mood for seriousness, quite ready to sample the good brew and the convivial company. The loft that hung precariously from anti-gravs above the main room was quickly taken over by members of the Upper Division's TSIL's (Thank the Stars I'm Leaving), those last-Quarter students who enjoyed the traditional best seats. Among them, a tall boy was doing a very true-to-life standup impression of the Dean of Seniors.

Saavik had gone along halfheartedly, only agreeing to accompany Carinne and Jaime after much cajoling. She was vague about what exactly it meant to "cop a brew" but assumed that she would find out. The three of them got off the monocar between Social Sciences and Science I complexes and rode the mover to this... this garishly-lit outbuilding, squatting like an afterthought next to the Agrarian Research Station. Saavik watched the stream of students congregating at the door.

"This is a bar." Saavik sounded severe. "I do not consume recreational drugs. Perhaps I will return to the quad."

"Time to observe, Saavik," Carinne reminded her _sotto voce_. "They have plenty of other things to drink that don't alter your consciousness! And they have food synthesizers for anything you'd care to eat."

Her roommate was right, of course. Whether human behavior when intoxicated was any more pleasant than Romulan behavior, say, or Denebian, remained to be seen. Certainly there was no arguing that one could learn much by observing them in this state.

Carinne and Jaime flanked her as they pushed their way in, grabbing their passes from Stosh as they passed muster. For all the crowd already there, there seemed to be plenty of room.

"Ramsey! Hey! Here!" Someone was yelling from a table by the wall opposite the entrance. Apparently a large number of Carinne's abundant stable of friends had made an appearance at Zephyr's tonight. The trio pushed through the crowd to the table; another bench was pulled up, and Carinne introduced Saavik around. Jaime already knew everyone; Saavik knew nobody. Apart from a nod to acknowledge each one's name as introductions were made. She did not make any overtures of conversation. Saavik saw that Jaime and Carinne ordered Kentaur beer but that at least one of the others, a human boy named Kenny Deal, was consuming a fizzed beverage labeled Golden Sparks. She ordered one, too. It had a spicy tang, non-alcoholic but definitely interesting.

The music was of the Pentak kind favored by Luine, but mercifully not too loud. One of the Andorians, the male named Shavrai, leaned over and asked politely, "Do you zap on Mood Savage?"

By the time she had deciphered this odd question, the Andorian female at Shavrai's side had hissed, "You thickhead, you know Mood Savage drives Vulcans gurky," and given her people's equivalent of a laugh. Saavik shook her head.

"I do not know this... music." The Andorians shrugged their enigmatic reaction. They had been introduced as siblings. Now the human Kenny began to tease the female, and Saavik's interest turned – not too obviously – to a very small human girl with deep black skin and sharp facial features, who was at Jaime's right and who, unlike the others, was trying to make a serious point about something she had heard in a lecture the day before.

"Aw, 'Zaba, come on – Timor's going to take that idea all to pieces in the Quarter Day seminars! You've heard him do a number on Del's musical-notation theories yourself!" Jaime looked bored and focused on a spot on the wall.

"Jaime, Del knows his musical epistemology! He started with the physics aspect of music, but I think he means to go a lot deeper than that..." Kazaba DeMille's voice became more animated than ever. "Harmonics are one aspect – and then there's bitonality – and there's the pure _soul_ feel of it."

Carinne joined in. "From what you all have said, I guess that Timor's way more traditionalist than Del," she said reasonably. "That's the problem, there are so many top dog professors and a lot of them are really way too opinionated to let students get all sides and make their own minds up."

Rather regretfully, 'Zaba agreed. "But I know about the soul in art, the historic soul of a people which is transmitted _completely_ through music." She took a long drink, rattled her kemhorn bracelets. "Damn it, the Peirians pass their culture on that way. I've seen it myself – or heard it, anyway – _and_ I've danced it."

In spite of her usual reserve, Saavik was interested. This human knew the Peirians! She spoke up to her own surprise. "Do the Peirians truly communicate their musical tones psionically?" Of course, Saavik could have consulted the databank later on the computer, but she wanted to know firsthand.

'Zaba cocked her head as if listening for the precise words to answer with. "One in a thousand can do that – those are the Windmasters. And _they_ fly, too. A lot of people think all Peirians fly and have ESP, but they don't. The Windmasters have both gifts. Everyone else gets around on their legs – but they do all sing. They use their throats, their feathers, and even their body position to create tones. The air currents get stirred up by their dancing and that's actually what makes the music. And the music is cumulative. Each one produces certain note sequences. And their music has a lot of functions – a really important one is passing on their history and genealogy." She saw the Vulcan girl's interest and smiled apologetically. "But they're right – Timor thinks these are stories for children, because _he_ has not seen, _he_ has only read in scientific papers. So, let us talk of something else."

Jaime consoled her. "'Zaba, take your degree and get out of here, and go back to Psi Deneva and YOU write the paper!"

"Oh, I will, I will," she promised. "I'll be the first offworlder to become a Windmaster." They all toasted her on this promise. So she was not herself a Denevan, but "just" another well-traveled human, Saavik realized.

Shavrai proposed that they replenish the food tray, and everyone shouted out their preferences as the Andorian waved for an attendant. While others ordered delicacies from their homeworlds, Saavik remembered that she must in all things_ be_ a Vulcan, stopped herself from asking for something with meat in it, and settled for a fruit and yogurt dish. While they were waiting for one of Stosh's harried student-waiters to bring back the platter, the grayish creature that had sat folded up in its chair at the opposite end of the table from Saavik stirred and snaked out a simian-appearing appendage to snag the last fistful of fizzcorn. "What _I_ want to know," the silky tenor voice demanded, "is, has anyone seen Kogan or Tesat lately?"

"Not lately," Kenny Deal grinned, "but give me the choice, I'll take Tesat."

"Give _you_ a choice, you'll take any being that doesn't insult you as it walks by. And if there is any _taking_, I'll bet it's Tesat that takes _you_. By the arm. And the leg. And kicks the crap out of you," Carinne retorted.

"That's right. She would. And you should've known her when she first came here. Her idea of a practical joke was to get one of those Kelpan spider-things from the xeno-bio lab and shut it inside one of Komack's terminals..." The gray student was positively shaking with the memory... which Saavik could interpret as either merriment or terror. "And then, ZaBani, remember, that Deltan Last-Quarter? - well, she of course tried to do her programming assignment like a good girl, and the comp station went into shutdown like Tesat had set it to do... and Komack got steamed at ZaBani's incompetence when she couldn't get the back panel off herself..."

"Komack hates attractive females of any species," Carinne explained to Saavik. "It's something to do with poor self-image."

" - and so she rips off the panel to show how it's really done – and this_ thing_ as big as a Rupelian jamjar comes out fighting." Even the Andorians were laughing now. Saavik was merely shocked at the idea of finding humor in such a life-threatening situation. Full-grown Kelpan arachnoids could kill by saliva contact alone. But she had known people who favored jokes like that.

"So Komack swipes at it with the panel and finally corners it, and pops a printout crate over it," the narrator crowed, "and then you should have heard her mouth when the xeno guys came to take it away... and they were worried for the spider....but it totally wrecked Komack for the rest of the day."

"I remember," said Jaime, "and poor ZaBani just gathered up her printouts and left right in the middle of it. Komack kept blaming her for the damage, but ZaBani didn't have too hard a time explaining things to the review and discipline committees."

"Komack should've figured a Romulan was behind it, dontcha think? One thing you can say about Komack is: she's Star Fleet all the way. All her simulation tactics exercises are Neutral Zone maneuvers and Romulan base takeovers. I'm surprised she didn't blame Tesat straight away. I'm surprised Tesat's even been allowed to take any of her classes!"

"Shaji, you know that Caryamandis has more pull with Kyllie than Komack does! Caryamandis stuck up for Tesat to come here at all, and talked Kyllie and all the Faculty-Student Relations Board around, too." The gray creature – apparently called Shaji in the absence of a more pronounceable name – admitted that this was so.

So – Romulans were not welcomed with open arms on Akadem; in fact, the others had talked as if this Tesat was the only Romulan here. And while they had enjoyed relating the story of the prank, Saavik had perceived a distinct impression of disdain for Tesat. But the story itself did not surprise her. If anything, this was a _mild_ Romulan joke.

"And what about Kogan? Speaking of enemies of the Federation..." Kenny, for all his show of sobriety, seemed to be rather open and uninhibited about his personal dislikes.

The Andorian girl, who seemed to be called Samdas, waved over the student waiter who was finally heaving the loaded snack tray in their direction. She and her brother passed small bowls and dishes around. "Ganav has seen the Klingon," she remarked, "but only briefly. He is in our residence hall, like last Quarter." She hissed in regret.

"Last Quarter he was nearly sent home three times." This from Shavrai.

"That is ancient history, brother," Samdas protested. "Think – if the school sent him back, we would never see him again. No one would. Perhaps even the Klingon does not deserve _that_."

"Oh, come on," 'Zaba scoffed, "you're saying they'd kill him?"

"Why not? Indeed, why not?" Samdas' face turned a darker blue. "He said so. He told the Review. I – well, I was helping the office catch up on reports and found the tape of his session. He just said it, almost like a dare to the Review to send him home. Like he expected to be killed for shaming the whole Klingon people."

Carinne was reflective. "That's another one where you have to take environment into account with behavior. Just like with Tesat. I mean, how was poor old Kogan taught to think of himself? As a hostage for his family? Who knows what kind of a political hornet's nest it was back home, on that secondary world, Dallith, I think? – and when his parents were allowed to send him here it probably was an experiment, with everyone in authority watching him to see if he screwed up... so -when he does screw up, his family gets the blame for the whole Klingon Empire losing face. And you can plug in the ending from your favorite anti-Klingon horror-propaganda vid. So you figure Kyllie's people will give Kogan all the chances they can."

Carinne _should _be a diplomat. Saavik felt less and less inclined to ad anything to the conversation, but she was fascinated by Carinne's neat and mature defense of the Klingon student. For a while there was a lull as they all ate ravenously, but then the second and third rounds of Kentaurs – and a few Slow Kievs and Deltan ales – arrived at their table and conversations bloomed again. Saavik wanted to leave, having had enough to eat and enough human and humanoid company for one evening. Most of all, she wanted to avoid getting into a conversation about Vulcan – at least one of these sophisticated children must have been there , and she was in no mood to dodge questions for which she had no answers.

Then she heard, "Hi, Saavik! It's good to see you." At her side stood Tor Srimandan, accompanied by two handsome Vulcans in identical green tunics and gray trousers. She greeted them, as did most of her companions. Tor introduced his friends. "T'Lemmi and Stiel. We've been at a late seminar, and they've come along to watch me drink my Kentaurs." The Vulcans nodded at them all again before taking their places at an adjacent table with Tor. Saavik now remembered that Tor had spoken of T'Lemmi in the gym, and recognized her as the student who had brought Sunek the healer a stack of communications at the conclusion of her first Triad a few weeks before. Stiel's resemblance to her was so striking that Saavik knew he was T'Lemmi's brother, possibly even her twin. They sat not as relaxed as Tor but with a lack of self-consciousness, even as their human friend consumed his beer and made small talk.

One of the Andorians was saying something about a Science Complex "team" in some unidentified sport, saying how woefully inadequate it would be against the Social Science Complex's lineup. Saavik was not interested, and looked back at Tor's table. T'Lemmi's polite, cool Vulcan eyes were right on the back of her neck, ands Saavik had the sense of being sized up.

...First T'Lili, the Vulcan at the library... then Sunek in the Triad meeting... now these two self-possessed young aristocrats. Saavik wanted to believe that other Vulcans, not only Spock, would consider her one of themselves. Her sympathies right now were with that Romulan girl, Tesat, who could permit herself to give way to honest rage and plots of revenge _because that was the way her people were presumed to react._

Carinne had sensed something was disturbing her, and turned slightly. "Our time is up, gang," she lied, waving her ID pass. "It's been good..." Jaime gave her a dissatisfied and sulky look.

"But we've only been here -"

"Early class tomorrow, _tavarich_ Rojon y Kresnovich! Coming, Saavik?"

Saavik made a stiff but acceptable farewell to her table companions and, taking care to look straight at Tor, to those at the neighboring table as well. Jaime said he was staying until Stosh threw him out, so the girls left without their escort.

Without admitting to Carinne that she had needed rescuing, Saavik wanted to thank her roommate somehow, but did not know how without revealing just how uncomfortable she had become. Carinne said little as they walked to the monocar stop. Dusklight was still glowing – this was the season when faint light persisted up to five hours after actual sunset. Finally Carinne asked, "Did you learn anything new about humans?"

"I observed and heard things which confirmed impressions I had formed from reading. I observed the willingness to claim friendship with other species... limited to those species present in the room. Had the Klingon or the Romulan students been there, the conversation would have been different. Or am I mistaken?"

"Yes and no. You'll find an ordinary crowd at Zephyr's. Those students that have really strong race feelings against others don't go very far here. But there are fears a lot of us have grown up with, the traditional prejudices of our families and of whole planets. Samdas's and Shavrai's oldest sister Gava was the first Andorian ever to come here, and she had trouble getting a roommate. Now, blue is just another skin color.

"Some of the people – faculty, too – weren't sure about Shaji at first – its name is really Shajaimajz Raxmi, by the way," and Carinne's voice rattled and snarled as she carefully spoke the name, to Saavik's ears, "because, well because it isn't identifiable as to gender, and because it's nocturnal. Shaji's a Drinot from the Mu Sarai system," she explained, "and their biology is totally freaked out by direct sunlight. So they were worried it would disrupt Akadem schedules to have it attending here."

Saavik was interested in Carinne's detailed knowledge. "How was the problem solved?"

"Easily enough. You can see that Shaji wears white from top to toe, and always stays the farthest away from any window. Artificial light in the quads and classrooms doesn't hurt it so much. The inner hormonal switch to take it from night to day activity was figured out by the xeno-bio people, and so it takes just a short medical treatment before coming here, and a reverse treatment before going home for vacations. So you see this place learns from each new species that shows up here! On the whole, the students won't deliberately offend each other."

...Except for the handsome, advantaged T'Lemmi and Stiel, and all the others who knew their paternal and maternal lines and knew the pride of origin on Vulcan, who had the firm childhood grounding in the disciplines of Surak... _their_ offense was deliberate, but not so that a non-Vulcan would know it for what it was. Even Carinne had only seen Saavik's discomfort because of her still-imperfect self-discipline. Carinne had not seen the two young Vulcans' stares. She had not felt the significant passing of judgment. Saavik decided that their stony demeanor was, after all, the ideal. She, too, must maintain such a face on this planet. The worst thing would be to allow another Vulcan to see her react.

They rode the monocar back to the Science I Complex as Carinne continued some explanations she had started earlier, about the history of Akadem and the kinds of intellectual opportunities to be found here. Especially interesting to Saavik were the upcoming Quarter Day symposia, at which all students had a whole day to choose events and lectures in any field they liked, lectures that would be given by some of the galaxy's greatest scholars in arts, sciences, humanities, communications, and commerce. As Carinne expounded on the offerings to be sampled at the "knowledge festival", as she called it, Saavik felt quite relaxed. There was no denying her roommate's friendly attitude. So far, she had experienced none of the tension between them that Neill and Luine obviously had. Carinne was very matter-of-fact, rarely asked an unnecessary question, and kept her temper very well.

From the monocar stop at Science I to their House was only a short walk and the girls decided to use the regular and not the moving walkway. Saavik and Carinne with their similar tall, slim figures and fluid gait elicited a number of appreciative stares from other students headed in the opposite direction. The older girl waved to and greeted her acquaintances, calling out teasing remarks, while the younger merely marveled at this. As for herself, Saavik found any personal attention rather discomforting. When she had first met a human she had believed the stares to be due to her ears, her coloring, her slanted brows. She was starting to suspect that there were other biological reasons why males in particular gave her _those_ looks.

Carinne was sharp enough to notice that Saavik averted her eyes from the frankly interested male passersby. "By the way," she asked idly, "you aren't being bothered by Jaime, are you? Or Kenny?" She sounded a little concerned. "They're just... they love to make comments to girls... good-looking girls... any girls!"

Saavik shook her head. She had received some wistful, promising appeals to her femininity from male students, but a look and a prolonged moment of silence had generally let them know how things stood. Jaime had not "made any moves", as Luine might say, not after that first evening over the supper table, and Saavik had not had to discourage anyone with anything more vigorous than words.

"No one has bothered me, I assure you. I am quite unaffected by the sexual innuendoes of the male students, either in their talk or in their body language." She saw Carinne's relief. After all, she was a Vulcan, wasn't she?

: It's just that they're a pretty good bunch and don't mind trying if you don't mind ignoring them or telling them to shut up. There is some kind of universal appeal about a Vulcan female's appearance, it seems."

"_That_ is something over which I have no control," Saavik said a trifle stiffly. She would have to think about that, though. To change the subject, and settle something about which she was curious, she asked, "If you do not mind telling me, Carinne – why is it that you know so many students and call them friends, while Neill, who has been here as many years as you have, never speaks of friends or is seen with people?"

"And you wish you understood humans better! If you took any two Vulcans, would you find less difference between them in the way they socialize?"

"Precisely. My remarks probably appear quite ignorant to you. I am here to prepare for a career in an environment where the great majority of my associates will be human. If it does not seem incorrect to do so, I would like to ask you some things from time to time."

They had walked almost back to Jenner House before Carinne answered her. "Saavik, it is quite 'correct'. Look, I'm only sixteen, just a few years older than you, but I do feel confident in what I've learned about other peoples. And there's the fact that literally since birth I've been among people who weren't human. My parents are a diplomatic team who were on Earth just long enough to bear me, then took off for Malkos IV, then to Andor, to Alpha Centauri 7, to Castillus, and all points between. I used to believe there weren't very many Earth-humans at all, because so much time was spent playing with other children and going to schools where I was the _one _Earthie among aliens." She paused. This was the longest utterance about herself that Saavik had heard Carinne make so far. "You learn about people, growing up like that. I couldn't have survived as a diplomats' brat if I hadn't."

"Will you be a diplomat as well as a historian?"

"I don't know. I think I'd like to find a home planet, somewhere."

"Being human, then, does not make you want to return to Earth?"

Carinne looked bemused. "Earth has very little to do with me. For my parents' generation, it has probably still the strongest pull. I know that my father wants to build a museum somewhere on the South American continent, where his ancestors once owned land. My mother talks of going 'back to the farm', wherever that is! I am as likely to be happy on Andor or Rigel Six, or even a place like Akadem, if I got the chance to come back here to teach or do research." She looked at Saavik. "anyway – the point is, we're all different. If you could set Neill down and convince her to talk personal matters, you'd find a way to understand her. The problem is - she doesn't seem to want to be understood...yet."

Saavik realized that Carinne had been incredible open with her. Humbly she said, "Thank you," and almost enjoyed Carinne's gratified expression. They entered their quad in silence and spoke no more that evening about these matters.


	8. Chapter 8: A Letter

Author note: Characters, events, and other elements of this story which are found in the "Star Trek" continuum are the property of the writers of the television/motion picture episodes and commercially published novels, or of the company that owns them; as concerns additional characters and planets and non-human races: while they are my own creation. I am taking no profit, monetary or otherwise, from their association with established Star Trek elements. This is purely for fun.

Chapter 8: A Letter

Saavik to Spock of Vulcan, greetings.

Spock, I have passed half of my first Quarter on Akadem. According to Dr. Drusilla Macmillan, Sunek, and Dabourian, my advisory Triad, my academic progress is excellent, even though the course in Galactic Arts has presented many concepts still foreign to my way of thinking and feeling. Master Hakat supervises my computer, mathematics, and physics studies and expresses satisfaction with my work as well. I am restating these reports which I know you have also received from my teachers, only that you may have my impressions, as you requested of me.

Recently there occurred an event known as Quarter Day, during which I had the opportunity to hear lectures and discussions at a number of complexes outside the Science I. They were most stimulating. Wishing to hear news of fields not directly related to my own, as you urged me, I attended the symposium on music and physics at which the musicologist Del Acosta and the metaphysician Gray Timor argued at length about the relationships between the two disciplines. The discussion was quite illogical and emotional at times but not without deeper substance. Professors Drusilla and Joseph Macmillan, also part of the panel, analyzed the physical properties of music in a more organized manner and clearly defined the ideas under discussion.

I also attended a lecture by Dr. Joel Aloeson, the psychohistorian from Tribenitanno, one by the social analyst Dr. Eva Runefeldt on the subject of Earth Communism, and a paper by Mitash the Tellarite statistician whose book is much feared and loathed by students here, judging from comments overheard. I found him interesting if still quite beyond easy comprehension.

Here I will divulge some of my questions to you, questions which I have not previously asked in my letters. I have had some fears here, and some moments of confusion, but I do recognize them as the effects of an unfamiliar environment, just as you had warned that I might. I am glad that you did so. The true grounds of my apprehensions have been a fault in my own logic. Now, in the middle of the Quarter and with several positive scholastic reports, I am more in control of myself and you may assume that this will be the case from now on.

You were wise to stress that observation of human beings _is_ the best way to understand the species as a whole. Am I being presumptuous to call you wise? And _does_ anyone understand humans except for one of themselves? I live in close contact with them daily, and tolerate the illogic in their words and behavior, but I cannot yet comprehend them or make any consistent judgment about them. They will be, at one moment, quite reasonable fellow-students in science or mathematics classes, and then after class or a laboratory session they will become frivolous and quite the opposite of what they seemed to be before. I do not know whether to dismiss this as hypocrisy or to assume that one or the other persona is true and the other a lie.

Privately, I continue with my disciplines and with my physical training. I am pleased that there are ample facilities for both interactive and solitary exercises, although opportunities for mental discipline and meditation are at times difficult to find.

The chess problems which you sent me were difficult. I played them on the computer and feel that I did your teaching some credit. The computer did not defeat me in fewer than eighteen moves. There is at least one chess Grand Master here, the Andorian chemist Konor Thrav, who has a chess group for Science Complex students. I shall probably take your problems to him and perhaps join his group as a pupil.

Please pass my respects and greetings to the captain of the _Stanek_and to the officers who were so helpful with my education. I shall be pleased to await your reply.


	9. Chapter 9: Strength or Shame?

_No, there are no Star Trek people mentioned by name. Neill has issues; let her vent._

Chapter 9: The Earth Yearning

Filimas's studio was littered with incongruities. A multitude of tiny tables and stands broke up the space. It was a rather large area, but one got the impression of a maze, with movable screens both as dividers and as canvas frames, a tilted drafting table blocking a natural-light window, and student projects occupying a number of pedestals and easels in irregular arrangements. Lupe Esquinez, the professor's assistant, was doing a halfhearted cleaning job by sweeping plaster fragments and empty paint tubes into a pile with a piece of scrap plastex. She looked up as Neill entered.

"Oh, great! I've _got_ to get to Mux's class by 1500 hours; could you sort of keep an eye on the studio until Filimas gets back?" On seeing Neill's annoyed expression, she assumed her martyr's face and tone of voice. "Please, Neill? She's at the Faculty House in Social Science, but she said she would be back for the Elective class. I've done all the tidying up I had time for." Lupe sighed, glancing around. It really didn't look any better than it had when she started.

Neill put her canvas bag and portfolio down precisely where she always did, along the wall by the window, and considered Lupe's plea. She _was_ here for a session with Filimas. And there was no need for more than one person to be here at the atelier. And she would rather wait alone than in the company of this net-brain... Her tone came out bored. "Go on then, I don't mind. You can't be late for Muxwell's lecture." She and everyone else knew that the fascinating attraction at the Bioethics lectures was Abe Davits, rated the top athlete on Akadem, if only a half-promising pre-med student... and a class-A bore, in Neill's opinion. Also, in Neill's opinion, Lupe's biological urges were poorly controlled and she, Neill, could not understand how someone privileged to attend one of the best secondaries in the galaxy could have so little self-respect when it came to men. It was always SO obvious who Lupe's latest lover was. Thank the stars, Neill considered, that she did all_ her_ thinking with her brain, not her hormones.

After Lupe left, Neill slipped her smock over her summer suit. The weather was much like it would be on Earth now, in England in late August. Earth! She keyed the computer console to bring up her Construx program, studied the model currently in the works, and had the computer rotate it through a number of planes. She restudied the significant support points. Then she went to the supply cabinets and carried the materials she would need over to the small square-topped pedestal where her actual project stood.

Thoughts about Earth and thoughts about her model were always closely related. A little bitterly, Neill considered her love-hatred of her home planet. Dr. Brady had asked her numerous times why she had ever left Earth, in some frustrated attempt to understand her resistance to the kind of society towards which Akadem was trying to tempt her. Why had she come out to space? There were all the "good" answers. And there was the no-answer, the one Neill was so adept at.

There were thousands of humans here, but many weren't Earthers, not really. They saw space as a solution for their species, a good in itself, a long-lost home out of some distant religious or racial memory or lie or legend... or just as the environment in which they could find the freedom Earth no longer offered them. They moved among other sentient species as among the crowds in the Underground tubes back home; they seemed to take it all as some kind of grand galactic picnic, or a love-rock festival. Neill had spent entire Quarters hating it all, enduring only because mastery of her subjects here and qualification for a AAA-rated university were the only way to keep moving, to keep from having to settle and live with... what?

She remembered, somewhat grimly, the one time, three years earlier, when she was thirteen and a Lower division student, that Dr. Brady had persuaded her to express her goals. Back then she hadn't known how she should handle this foreign place. (Neill ran her hand over the plexi side of the structure before her and envisioned the placement of another strut, another brace, another panel... here, or maybe there...) She had told Dr. Brady of having no feeling of "home" on her own planet, but after her previous outbursts against space life, this had hopelessly confused the old fool. If so, why was she so deliberately hostile and alienated from the idea of space travel or living on other worlds? At that point she had closed up, knowing even at that tender age that she had better just shut up and hold on.

Almost savagely, Neill chopped some Gypsoden chunks into the pebble-like small fragments needed for the molding. Already at that age she had felt that telling Brady or anyone else of her motivations was a fruitless and degrading thing. All she had to do was to call up her mother's face, contorted with hatred as she closed her last bag on that last day before boarding the _Queen Sophia_. The screeched accusations – that she was every centimeter her father's brat – that she was thwarting Mother's plans for an Earthside education just to put her into an early grave – that she was abandoning Mother just as her jerk of a father had. And yet, Neill Gallaghan had _not_ left Earth to find her father, romantic as that notion might seem. Someone like Brady might even understand a motivation like that, but the truth was, she had absolutely no desire to run into Thom Gallaghan anywhere this side of the Neutral Zone. Sorry, you psycho psychologists.

There was a hiss as the atelier door slid back. Neill turned to see Filimas carrying in a wide case. "Hi. Where's Lupe gone?"

"Gone to Dr. Muxwell's lecture, in which she is _so_ interested these past weeks. The studio, however, has not been left unattended."

"I see." Filimas came over to Neill. "That one looks like it might be completed soon." She stood closely and watched Neill's meticulous and precise placement of materials. _Not a sculptor_, she thought, _not artistic enough, but definitely a draftswoman, an architect, if only... _

"Just about done. I hope you can give it the right nudge, here and there." Neill sat aside and let the sculptor look at the model from all sides. Filimas did not let any gesture or expression betray her impressions. When she had satisfied herself, she realized that she was still carrying her case. She deposited it on one of the small tables where it balanced precariously.

"A mistake, I must say." She pulled up a chair so that she and Neill were facing across the pedestal. Neill waited, brooding, for her to point out the flaw, wondering where she could have erred so badly in her calculations or measurements.

"A mistake, I say – to allow a talent to be relegated to mere Elective time only. A mistake to refuse -" and she held up her hand to forestall Neill's interruption of protest - "to refuse to acknowledge what the partnership of mind and hands can do. I know your beliefs on pure training of the mind, but there is grievous wrong done by deciding too early in life that one thing is _the thing._.. that something else is not also worth exploring... that there are not other things you do very well indeed." Then she busied herself in silently looking over the model again, while Neill digested her remarks.

No matter how disdainful she might act towards others who saw fit to advise her, she could not attribute to this woman any motivations of shallowness, self-interest, or nosiness. Because Filimas respected science and never seemed to engage in the eternal war of incomprehension that seemed to have raged since the times of the ancients, between esthetics and mechanics, Neill did not feel she was being preached to.

Now, after reconsidering the student's structure, Filimas said gently, "Since this is nearly finished, you know the standard procedure..." Filimas never asked regarding a structure, "What are you building? What is it?" until she judged it nearly done. She advised only based upon what the student herself chose to reveal about the project or its eventual purpose. It was that time now. "Tell me what you envision for this building."

Neill saw it clearly, sitting there as it had sat on the screen in her original plan-through on the archprogram computer. "It is designed to scale, for Terran gravity and stresses. The setting is to be the already existing Antipodean Complex in Wellington, as you can see from the outside appearance, color scheme, and landscaping, which are in harmony with the New Zealand School. " Filimas's nod encouraged her. "It is the headquarters venue for a new diplomatic center, to contain operational and business offices, personal living quarters, and free recreational space. Access roads are here -" and she indicated them in the air around the model "- and here; the speedcar line passes there..." She finished her explanation and waited, almost shyly.

Filimas's gray eyes seemed to scan all quarters of the model, scanning each feature and corner, each line and balance point. "I'm pretty familiar with the Wellington Complex, actually." She was groping mentally for the thing that was bothering her about this model. "It's compatible in design and proportion in every respect, Neill, and damned attractive, too. Look, let's leave it for now. The comp-simulation stress tests are this evening. I have about a half-dozen others to test and I'll do yours, too. When do we meet next?"

Neill told her. It did not bother her that the artist did not give an instant appraisal. And since Filimas did not rave over _anyone's _individual projects, only over general performance, she certainly did not expect high praise for this work. She covered her model carefully and disposed of her leftover materials. She would get her evaluation the next time she came to the studio.

Filimas invited Neill to stay for tea, but the girl politely begged off. Afternoon tea had been part of the home ritual, just she and Mother each and every dreary afternoon, symbolic for her of their shabby, accepting resigned kind of existence... although Mother would never have seen it that way. If it were three-thirty in Greater London-Birmingham right now, Mother would be pouring the tea and being oh so civilized, no matter how stoned she might be. Of course, Filimas could know nothing about this; for her, it was probably just a refreshing necessity in this hot and dusty place. Maybe she _should_ stay, but the refusal had been spoken already. Neill thanked Filimas and saw herself out.

No one else was due in for an hour or so. There were piles of Architectural Digest and Teknika to scan, her own projects to work on, a score of student assignments to evaluate. There was Fara Mulmann, there was Robert Cannaday, her best journeyman graduate student, there were her other colleagues in the Arts Complex with whom she needed to discuss things. She sat for a moment, and then it came to her. Without even lifting the cover from Neill's work, Filimas knew what had struck her, subconsciously, about the model - a model for a building for the Antipodean Diplomatic Complex. She _did_ know the Wellingtonian pattern. Each existing building in the complex had access from road and other land transport routes all around, as well as a shuttle pad and an outside passenger and large-cargo transporter facility. Neill's mode did not. It was a facility for interplanetary diplomacy that had absolutely no access from space.


	10. Chapter 10: A Very Unhappy Boy

Chapter 10: "...A Very Unhappy Boy"

Dibrat dei Haxrash, known to his human companions as "Lefty" for his slightly more dominant hand, was holding court at the Grub. It was close to the Quarter end, and the prospect of upcoming evaluations took away some of the normal, relaxed atmosphere in the student eatery. Still, there was not yet that smell of fear and panic in the air that one would sense, say, a week later. The dozen or so students sprawled on the green chairs around the stocky Tellarite alternated between silence (listening to Dibrat) and laughter (at Dibrat's remarks). Though the students at the other tables were not of Lefty's circle, many were tuned in to his monologues; and since this was not an uncommon scene, it had all the aura of a set-piece that had been performed many a time before, with regular participants and regular satellite listeners.

Most of Dibrat's entourage were of the sort derisively labeled "jocks" by Earthers. (Etymological note: this term had come down through the years, although the piece of athletic equipment it was derived from had long since acquired another slang name.) True to centuries-old form, these young people carried on an active battle with school authorities over the value of the academic testing to which they were going to be subjected soon. Since athletics were part of every student's curriculum (but not for credit), the good athletes also had to pass all their academic subjects creditably. Those who used up all their Electives for sports had to be especially vigilant about making all their Prime courses count.

At a table near Dibrat's was a group of interested listeners: Luine Kai-Mekelen and her friend Holly Pitone, who had decided to pass up the chance to spend a couple of hours studying, and a new acquaintance, Cranston Pike. By his physical appearance, Cran Pike should have been very much at ease among the "jocks" at the other table: he was in superb form, overwhelmingly the male animal; but in fact he did not make too much of his own good looks. Both the girls were happy that he befriended them (after teasing them mercilessly) at a recent party at Cochrane House. He had quickly showed his value as a study partner, as he had offered to help them understand the mysteries of Agnan equations in physics. Right now, however, they were just glad he was sharing a break with them, and the mocking remarks he made under his breath in answer to Dibrat's, had them in fits of giggles, although Cran retained a solemn countenance. The Tellarite had just made a loud, uncomplimentary remark about one of his professors.

"Well, he should know," Cranston drawled, "since he's repeated that particular class three, no – four times. Dib may be the first student in the history of Akadem to get a degree in _Basic_ Sociology." When the girls laughed, he remonstrated with them. "Ladies! Ladies! This is serious! The man has a true dedication to the subject!"

Dibrat was continuing in his character assassination, arousing the usual response from his slavish coterie. One hefty human girl, dressed in a very brief sports outfit, was his loudest acclaimant. Cran remarked casually, tipping his head in her direction, "That's Pinkie. She's no cerebral giant, either. They make a good pair, don't you think?"

Perhaps he had spoken a bit louder than before. Perhaps Dibrat had noticed Cranston inaudibly countering each one of his gems of wit. "Pike, I'm not sure I heard you right." He squared up his broad torso in the chair and glared from his close-set eyes. Pinkie copied him, gesture for gesture.

"Lefty, it's just such a pleasure listening to you that I have to repeat your remarks to make sure I don't forget any of them." Cran Pike turned in his seat. "Please go on, we're anxious to hear more." He grinned at the Tellarite.

Dibrat's momentum had been broken. He saw the trio at the other table and noted their looks of amusement. His own friends were silent, but he knew he could count on them. "O.K., Pike," he conceded, "I ought to be mad at you... but I'll let you live." He shrugged. "Jock" he might be, loud and boisterous, but not stupid: he knew better than to engage in a battle of wits with the likes of Cran Pike. He knew as well as anyone else that Pike had come to Akadem very young, had in effect grown up here. He had never needed help from anything but his own mind to make it at school.

Pike explained to the girls, "I've got to stop teasing Dib for a while, before he gets too steamed."

"So you're really his friend?" Luine wanted to know.

"Not really, Lu. Let's just say we've learned to stay out of each other's way. He's older than me, by Tellar measures; we've been here the same number of years, but I'll bet I get _out_ of here before he does. _If_I can get the cadet appointment I'm looking for, I'll be in Star Fleet Academy in another year." His tone was matter-of-fact but the excitement could hardly be concealed. As the younger cousin of an honored pioneering starship captain, Cranston Pike probably had a better chance of getting in than did many others, Luine thought. Cran then went on to say that he'd be happier if he knew that his grades and personal qualifications were responsible for his selection. Getting off Akadem on his own terms, without any doubts about his record – that was his goal. So getting into trouble with someone like Dibrat, or joining a good-time crowd like his, was not smart. He would do it his own way.

Holly looked over at the Tellarite's group and sighed, poking around at the bottom of her fizzle glass. At least they were all having fun, and you never saw _them_ moping around their quads or in the study cubicles, or the library, or the labs. Holly had a pretty good idea of what _she_would do tonight: if she did not go to the gym with Lu, she would be back in the quad actually trying to study, with her poor, weird, half-android roommate Jane, who was about as interesting as last year's dance vids. Her social life was, alas, zip – zilch – nixed... dead.

She was about to ask Cran what he did when he was bored, when there was a mild stir in their neighborhood. A couple sat down at the small table right next to hers. Tor Srimandan greeted Cran with friendly informality and grinned at the girls as Pike introduced them; then, a little more formally than Cranston had done, he introduced T'Lemmi, as the Vulcan girl with him was called. They all acknowledged one another cordially. With so many students circulating about the Science I complex alone, most were familiar with each other's faces but needed reminding about the names. The older students like Tor, T'Lemmi, Dibrat, even a non-social like Neill Gallaghan – these were known to almost everyone.

Luine hoped it wasn't too rude of her to be staring as she was in T'Lemmi's direction. _Holy Pali, she's a stunner._ Luine felt a twinge of envy. _Saavik's a knockout, too – it's not fair – these Vulcan girls could have half the guys of any species on the planet if they wanted..._only, of course, they didn't want to. Luine wished that just for a little while some of that cool and self-possessed beauty could be transferred...

Something was stirring at the Tellarite's table. Apparently, from the sound of Dibrat, his tongue had been loosened a little more than usual, and from the tone of his claque's braying laughter, so had theirs. There was a fresh burst, and Dibrat said quite loudly, "_I _know what _I_ can have, friends, and I don't have any impossible fantasies... But there are _some_ people who have to see how tough they can make it for themselves" He seemed to be directing his remarks at someone not at his table.

"I don't like this," Cran murmured to his two companions, who looked at each other, mystified. "He's after someone."

"I can't see why a _human_doesn't have the sense to see that!" and there was a muffled remark from one of the other athletes, and more braying laughter. A gangly human of Asian descent took over the comments.

"I sure wouldn't waste my time like _that_! Imagine, dude, only every seven years! Man, that's practically celibacy! I'm not makin' that kind of sacrifice!"

Pike shook his head, half-amused. "Tobit Nhu is not sacrificing to anyone at the moment. His roommate just moved out." The inflection in his voice on "roommate" caused a fresh if subdued giggle from Luine and Holly. Quad rules, especially for Middle and Upper level students, were far from restrictive, and the Student-Faculty Relations people looked the other way when members of the opposite sex moved into each other's rooms, though this was officially frowned upon.

But now it was obvious who the target of the comments was, and Tor was careful to appear to take no notice. His shoulders looked relaxed; he was facing away from Dibrat's crowd, talking quietly with his Vulcan friend. For her sake, he was offended at the implications of Dibrat's and Nhu's rough jokes. And from other tables, he saw eyes raised sympathetically to look at him and T'Lemmi, then quickly lowered. T'Lemmi gave him an ever-so-slight lift of her eyebrows; Tor liked that understated way of hers, and knew that she heard the comments without prejudice towards _him_.

"Aw, c'mon, Tobe," someone was saying behind them, "lay off. It's a big, happy galaxy, right? If he wants to play with computers, what's the harm? He'll get burned, that's his business."

"_Burned_isn't the word, friend," Dibrat roared. "_Frozen_ is more like it. But believe me, I know _some_ that burn, and I mean _burn_." He went on to describe the "some"; from the choice of vulgarities he used, it seemed he was describing Deltan or Orion females; certainly not the solid, predictable, strictly moral Tellarite ones. Howls of laughter greeted the remarks; Pinkie whooped raucously and draped herself over Dibrat's shoulders.

Pike made a face. "This isn't right... I don't mean because you girls are here... it's just, well, I say stuff like that, too... well, sometimes." He was, for the first time since the girls had met him, awkward in his speech. "But he's over the top, it's too sleazy." Indeed, Dibrat seemed to catch himself, taking off on a new tack.

"But for _serious_ business, I want my own kind. I'm for the Federation and all the mingling and everything, but at home I want to know what I'm getting... and I'm _damn_sure I want children who aren't half computers!" It was possibly the longest complete utterance he had ever made, and there was a hectic flush on his push-nosed face. There reigned a silence over that end of the Grub; someone was supposed to say something, but no one did. Tor Srimandan leaned even more intently forward, and had placed himself so that his body was in the line of sight from Dibrat's table. That way the Tellarite could no stare at T'Lemmi. But Luine's party could hear part of their conversation.

"We should leave, T'Lemmi. I am ashamed of our fellow-students."

"They are free. You have no responsibility for them, nor for their beliefs, Tor." The Vulcan made a small hand movement. "What they believe is of no consequence."

"It is of consequence. I'd expect that kind of garbage from third-rate hoods in some derelict space dump somewhere, but not here. And just because they're basically fun-loving, non-academic type doesn't mean they're not supposed to show common courtesy."

"Allowing Dibrat to see your anger would be a mistake. And illogical, at the moment. Pointing out their hypocrisy would also serve no purpose."

"They see species mixing as all right for a night or two, but not for other kinds of ... friendships." Here, Tor realized he had spoken from his heart, unguarded, feelings not appropriate for open conversation with a Vulcan. He saw T'Lemmi's almost startled reaction: a slight tinge of green in the cheeks, eyes slightly wider, brows just a bit raised.

"We are friends, Tor." She paused. "Now, I believe we were trying out the combinations for the chess double-board version."

Tor recovered himself. "Yes. You had set up an opening on the left board, with the Klingons' Trisect."

As they forced the conversation back to a ground where their feelings were not involved, the humans looked at each other. Cran Pike was still listening to the talk at the other table, where after the silence Dibrat had given up on provoking an answer from Tor. In fact, his whole group got up and left after a few minutes, in considerable ill-humor.

In the grateful calm, the atmosphere lightened all through the Grub. Another group, this one of lab-jacketed Upper and post-grad boys and girls, occupied the large table. Pike and his two companions studiously ignored Tor and T'Lemmi, but finally Tor called over to them. He could relax now.

"Cran – I was dying to punch out Dib's lights, but you know I'd rather wreck him on the fencing ground." Pike nodded, and the short human lost his smile. "If I didn't know exactly why he talks that way, I might have punched him out anyway..."

Another, unstated, reason for being restrained sat directly facing Tor. T'Lemmi addressed Tor, but so that the others could hear, too. "Poor judgment in words is hardly a new failing with Tellarites. You will excuse me; this is not a facile generalization. As you say, Tor, he may have a reason for his prejudices, but I would not want to be in a position to have to be polite to him for very long."

"A diplomat's daughter speaks." Tor tried to josh her, but she gave him a disapproving look. He turned around and seemed to hesitate, then continued. "When I said I knew why Dibrat acts the way he does – about guys and girls from different species being together, you know...I'm not excusing him. But it kind of helps to know it. Dibrat probably wouldn't be on Akadem under normal circumstances. He's had _lots_of trouble since he got here -" and he looked to Cran Pike for confirmation. Pike was rolling his eyes dramatically toward the ceiling. " - and that's no secret. He's not, ah, academically gifted."

"_But _he's the son of a retainer to a Tellarite ruler. And that dignitary has a son, too, a son who's a really top-level candidate for some science academy, some day. A real chemistry whiz. He's a couple of years younger than Dibrat, so he was not about to be sent out to Akadem by himself – he's an only child, I'll bet, mom and dad's pride and joy – and since no one is allowed to bring a servant to school, no matter how high-class a student is, a friend got sent along – and that's how Dibrat got here and how he stays here. He's stuck on Akadem until Paul finishes up here."

"Paul??" Holly looked really confused. "That doesn't sound very Tellarite."

"That's part of the story. Paul Loman is his name here; probably he's got another one on Tellar. They came here together, but Paul promptly got settled in and started to adapt and make friends, messing around happily in the chem labs, right at home. While Dibrat... who is supposedly keeping an eye on Paul, is really a burnout, he's the one that needs keeping. "

"You take a very long time telling a short story," T'Lemmi reproved him. "Your hearers want to know why this wretched Dibrat indulges his contemptible prejudices."

"O.K., _you_ tell them."

The Vulcan girl said simply, "Paul Loman's mother is a Tellarite High Commissioner. His father is a human, a former political attache' from the Federation. Quite plainly, Paul is a hybrid, a 'half-breed', as you humans so picturesquely say, and it is difficult to say which Dibrat hates more, that fact or the fact that Paul's mind and character are better developed. He is really a very unhappy boy."

The others nodded their understanding. "But if Dibrat hates hybrids so much, how come he had that big human girl hanging all over him?" Holly wondered.

"Ah, physical attraction. _That_ is quite different," Tor replied, and Holly remembered his comment about one-night stands. Suddenly she decided that, all in all, she would rather be out of here: the human and the Vulcan at the other table were obviously close friends, and it made her uncomfortable to watch them having to deal with insulting remarks. She liked to take life not _too_ seriously, herself.

Cranston Pike said finally, "Enough of this garbage. I figure that if anyone's going to get Dibrat one day, it should be Paul. They are so damned polite around each other, something's _got_ to give sometime. My quad's next to theirs, in Newton House, and I've heard some pretty amazing arguments. Well. Want to go run around the gym?"

Neither Holly nor Luine felt much like it, but it seemed to be a wonderful alternative to studying before supper. As they paid their credits and left, Tor and T'Lemmi remained at their table, unmoving. They did not speak. Their eyes did not meet.


	11. Chapter 11: Seeking Answers

_The disclaimers from previous chapters apply. The characters in this story that were created and mentioned by any affiliate of Paramount in the Star Trek "universe" are not my property. _

Chapter 11: Seeking Answers

Saavik looked up from the chessboard where Luine had made a complete hash of her game. Surely her quadmate had made great progress in the weeks since the term began, but something was obviously distracting her today, leading her into one disastrous move after another, although the early hour should have helped the human girl be more focused and alert. Luine had already been out in the common room, curled up in one of the congenial airchairs when she, Saavik, had emerged from her bedroom just after 0700 hours, and had proposed a game if Saavik wasn't planning on going straight to class, which she was not.

"Why did you ask for a game," Saavik now asked, "when it is obvious that your mind is not at all concentrated upon even the simplest strategy? You are actually in check six different ways after that last move, something I have never seen before."

"I don't really care about the game today. I just wanted to talk to you." Luine tipped her king over morosely, giving a little sigh.

Saavik made her voice sound severe. "Really. I do wish humans were less devious. You could have _said_ that you wanted to talk." However, she admitted to herself that Luine _was_ being honest, and realized that her quadmate might even be intimidated into silence by her tone. "Luine, I am not angry. You do not need to engage me in the pretext of a chess game in order to find an opportunity to talk. Truly!' Kinder words, she had learned, often produced better results when dealing with timid people. And, although she observed Luine coping rather well, in her human fashion, with the stresses of Akadem life, she sensed that the girl remained vulnerable and exposed.

Now Luine looked at her directly. "O.K. then. You're a Vulcan..."

"Yes?" What else could Saavik respond to _that_?

"Something weird happened last night. Not really weird, just disturbing, I guess. I'd like to know what you think about it, if you could tell me how a Vulcan would feel about it." She recounted briefly the previous night's incident at the Grub, including what she could remember of the remarks Dibrat had made. Saavik heard her out without comment.

Inside, though, the Vulcan was in turmoil. At first, when Luine began to touch upon the subject of interspecies mixing, Saavik had a moment of panic, thinking that somehow her quadmate had discovered her background. But when she realized that Luine had brought up the topic only because of the specific incident she was concerned about, Saavik concentrated only on that incident. About Tor's and T'Lemmi's friendship she already knew; the story about Paul and Dibrat was news to her. Finally, Luine concluded, "So I want to know what Vulcans think about that... about going with humans."

"I can hardly speak for all Vulcans, Luine. And I do not believe that Tor or T'Lemmi would describe their relationship as 'going together'."

"Well, they're good friends anyway. And Dibrat was implying more than that. And there _are_ people who are half-human and half-Vulcan, aren't there?"

"There are, as there are crosses between other peoples. But genetic realities and cultural differences make these quite rare." Saavik was being carefully neutral in her tone and expression.

Luine rolled her defunct king between the palms of her hands. "I guess so. Still, wouldn't a Vulcan think that intolerance and stuff like that are kind of illogical, and if anyone wants to like someone else, the logical thing is, let them?"

Saavik responded, "I cannot disagree with that." It had been well put. Logical, yes... She remembered some of the very personal things Spock had told her about his own background: his parents' meeting and marriage, his childhood, the difficulties inherent in being the offspring of an interspecies union. Certain of his experiences seemed also to apply to her, others not at all. Even though he had never said so, Saavik had sensed that Spock's parents were very fond of each other and had been able to prepare him to some extent for the unpleasant words and behavior of some of his peers. Luine was right, of course. If male and female of different species were mentally and physically compatible, there should be no barrier to either a union or the production of offspring. Realism, on the other hand, often required that such couples have thick skins, even in this time of widespread interstellar life-form contacts.

"Vulcans do not oppose any associations between creatures which produce beneficial results or encourage understanding," she assured Luine. "And it is obvious from your account that some humans and some Tellarites at least do not share Dibrat's views."

"That boy is supposed to be Paul's _friend_, the one who made those idiotic remarks. I wonder if Paul knows how much Dibrat hates him?" Luine's tone was wistful and troubled. "I really didn't expect to run into this kind of stuff here... I mean, even on my crummy little backward dump of a planet I didn't hear things like that. Maybe I'm just hopelessly naïve," she concluded, slumping on her air cushion, convinced that she had analyzed herself harshly but correctly.

"I do not think so, Luine."

"Neill says I am." But she sounded relieved at Saavik's pronouncement; Saavik in turn experienced both a mild amusement.

"So – do you rely on someone else to tell you who you are? Both Neill and I can only give our opinions. What do you think?" Now Saavik felt a small glow of satisfaction that she had interacted positively with the human.

"I – I value your opinion, Saavik. Neill's almost an Upper, sure, but she doesn't have to be so overbearing about her judgments. But you're fair, and you're a Vulcan, so I don't think you'd say something just to be proving how clever you are."

"Thank you. I certainly would not wish to do that. Now – I truly do not know what kinds of relationships there are among particular humans and Tellarites, but if Tor and T'Lemmi have a friendship that satisfied both of them, I believe the objections of other Vulcans would be minor. I expect their friendship would continue regardless of any pettiness, which is almost unknown among Vulcans." So she said, but Saavik was not quite sure of the truth of that statement. She herself did not mix much with fellow-students and did not participate in casual conversations by her own choice. Rarely had she heard racist or vulgar language about other species but she knew that it existed and that she was probably missing it because she did not know all the cultural nuances of speech. Saavik had not yet learned all the nonverbal means of communicating ideas, including insulting ones.

But Luine seemed satisfied with her answers. In fact, she recovered some of her spirit and some of chess sense, too. In the next hour, the two girls spent time reviewing rules and strategies. Saavik also agreed to help her quadmate study for her mathematics evaluation. It pleased her in a very human way that Luine seemed to regard her as a friend.

--

Had anyone accused her of being devious herself, Saavik would have denied it. Yet she found herself in the lounge and canteen in Science Delta's chemistry wing without any reasonable justification for being there. She was loitering, pure and simple... what Luine would call "hanging out". She had had some spare time this afternoon and was indulging her curiosity.

In the lounge, Saavik worked on her lap computer while observing from the corners of her eyes a knot of students drinking coffee; a professor complaining to a maintenance worker; two students plying another professor with excited diatribes at a trash-littered table. Of all these, Saavik knew only the last: the instructor was the department sub-chair, Zeze Bi, and one of the students was Stiel the Vulcan, T'Lemmi's brother. The other was a curiosity: a rigid-looking humanoid whose totally immobile face was belied by the enthusiastic timbre of his voice. Saavik guessed that this was an android-bodied noncorporeal.

Very little happened in the lounge to interest her. The coffee-drinkers left and were replaced by others; she was not looking for any of them. Stiel glanced up briefly from his discussion with Zeze Bi and appeared to recognize her, but continued his argument without as much as a nod in her direction. A student fussed with the sandwich machine and banged on the dispensor slot, then turned away in exasperation. Saavik started: having waited for this particular student to appear, she was unprepared actually to see him.

This _had_ to be Paul Loman. The frustrated student tried another slot and got a glob of something sticky on a plastiplate. He shrugged at what was obviously a mistake, but seemed finally to be resigned to poor service. He stood eating while another student stopped by him and began a conversation. The boy turned in Saavik's direction and all doubt vanished. She saw a pleasant, freckled pink face with the characteristic upturned and flattened nose, not as pronounced as in a full-blooded Tellarite. He was chubby and small in stature and there was absolutely nothing bizarre or threatening about him. The only mildly interesting touch was a bright orange scarf draped around his neck.

Not knowing many Tellarites, Saavik did not know how to assess Paul. She remembered that Spock had told her of his own father's less than cordial encounters with some of that species during his diplomatic missions in the past, and remembered also that her mentor had mentioned a basic illogical streak in the Tellarites he had met. In her own mind were some fading old memories of beings that resembled Tellarites among the lowlife riffraff that frequented the bars of Hellguard. Of those she had met there, none had left much of a real impression. As for this boy, he seemed innocuous and unremarkable: a hybrid without doubt, but one who seemed at ease with his surroundings. Other students were greeting him where he stood, patting his shoulder, treating him like anyone else.

Chemical reactions might work according to universal laws, Saavik mused, but people-mixtures certainly did not. She thought of Spock's accounts of human and Vulcan reactions to his own person; of T'Lili's and Sunek's behavior towards her; of the animosity Dibrat harbored towards this little freckled kid. Was this the fate of all who did not belong completely in one camp or the other? Who could answer this for her? If Spock were here right now she did not know whether she could even ask him. His reasonable explanations about the causes of intolerance would not do right now.

Having seen what she had come to see, Saavik picked up her lap terminal and left the lounge.

--

In front of the mirror in the bathroom, she could hear the galactic-arts recording through the open door to the bedroom. Saavik had already listened to "The Rigel Qaszid", the classic song cycle which she had found most unpleasant to the ears. Now she was playing "Die Schoene Muellerin"; Schubert was not the best Earth composer she had heard, but at least his music did not cause her pain. What was intriguing about this particular version was that it was sung in the original, now-extinct Old German language, by the Vulcan vocalist Saqal. She tried to imagine herself singing Terran music. It was quite out of the question.

She had washed her hair and was now wrapping it into a rolled crown high on the back of her head. This was a style that was sensible for her long hair; the fact that it had gained her some approving looks and remarks was completely irrelevant. Saavik disliked unnecessary attention; she felt that the time some females spent in adorning themselves was a colossal waste. She gave herself a final, severe look in the mirror.

The music rolled in its supple cadences as Saqal began another song. This also was part of the cycle, definitely more pleasing than the Qaszid. Saavik tapped out the rhythm on a wallpanel for a few measures, then dimmed the light and returned to the bedroom. Slowly, in the course of the Quarter, she had begun to feel a little more of an attachment to the place. The furniture all belonged with the quad, and her own personal possessions were minimal. There was none of the colorful and bizarre decoration that Luine favored. She knew that encumbering one's space with hangings, objects, and memorabilia was a way to bring home environments to the school; to her, the feeling of "home" would never come until she discovered where she _did_ belong. No mere decorations would accomplish that.

The arrangement of her side of the room, spare and functional, pleased her nevertheless. A bed, a nightstand, a compu/desk, and a straight-backed chair... a suspended storage cabinet on the wall above the bed held the few clothes she had. There were a few other personal items, but Saavik did not display them. Carinne, on the other hand...

Carinne's tastes were quiet, so Saavik was not bothered by her style of decoration. The older girl had hung a wall-holo of a Beta Centauri night scene over her bed and had a number of brown and brick-red or rust-colored baskets and mats nailed to the walls. From the ceiling hung a model of an Earth bird on a flexible and delicate spring. It was more than a temptation – it was a compulsion – to pull on the spring and make the bird bounce. Saavik pulled, just to see a small bounce, and no one was there to see her do it. She sat down on the bed, on the spread that matched Carinne's. The dark green fabric reminded Saavik of Akadem's native grasses, so restful and cool in appearance. She appreciated Carinne's having offered the bedspread; it was not necessary but it lent color to her side of the room, and it had been a gesture of kindness and generosity.

The music changed. The opening clangs of the _dau-_bells heralded the epic-song of the Andorians. So far she had concentrated on the music itself but she remembered that the _dau_ were used in dance as well. Saavik activated the video and saw the start of the epic illustrated in the geometrically formulated, repetitive forms of the dance, by six male and six female performers. Their brief costumes flashed white against blue skin, until one had the impression of interlocking blue-and-white circles, squares, triangles, and hexagons. Saavik was fascinated in spite of herself.

When that dance was over, she looked away from the monitor to see Carinne cross-legged on the facing bed. "You are very quiet," she remarked.

"I didn't want to break your concentration. It's lovely, isn't it? To know some of the Andorians _I_ know, it's almost hard to believe they have such precision and delicacy."

"As there are humans, I am certain, who would make outworlders disbelieve the possibility of a Schubert or a Bach."

Carinne smiled appreciatively. "Touché. Every species has some fascinating anomalies. Go ahead and play your music out loud; I'd like to hear more of this classical stuff. I'm doing my letters today."

Saavik switched to a cassette of purely instrumental music without a visual, and sat back with her eyes closed, following the development of themes and the arrangements of harmonies much better than she had done at the beginning of the course. Dr. Folsom had wisely pointed to the connection between mathematics and music. Some of her theories had even attempted to explain the relationship of physics to music – not in the actual, technical sound production, which was obvious, but in the sense of natural principles being embodied and interpreted in the music of certain cultures.

Carinne, tapping out letters on her computer, glanced briefly over at her roommate. She was glad the Vulcan girl had joy in the music; perhaps she did not even know it herself, but her face lost its cool severity when she was listening like that, eyes closed and all senses of the imagination engaged. Carinne knew enough Vulcans to know that all customary Akadem entertainments held little attraction for most of them. They politely joined groups of fellow students for certain events, but preferred each other's company for contemplation, music, games of mental agility, and the inevitable tortuous, multi-skeined logical arguments. The older girl paused in the middle of a thought, searching for the right expression, then continued. It was time-consuming to write to all her family and to friends spread halfway across the galaxy, but it was a good discipline. At the rate that the Federation diplomatic service moved its members around, it was the only way she'd ever stay in touch with her friends ever again, once they all graduated from their various school worlds. And today, there was news to pass on.

She shared that news with Saavik when the next break in the music came. "Saavik, I heard from the History and Reclamation Project Center on Memory Alpha today."

Saavik lifted an eyebrow, interested. "Your application?"

"It was approved! I have already spoken with my Triad, and my last two Quarters' work has been approved towards my first year of training there. So I have this and the next two Quarters to finish. It's almost too much to take in."

"I am pleased for you, Carinne. You will be an excellent historian."

"I think so, too."

The Vulcan nodded. "There is no sense in being falsely modest. You can do so much more now, even as a trainee, since Memory Alpha is still rebuilding."

"So much was lost there, it was a tragedy. From what I hear, though, the galactic efforts to transfer the thousands of planetary memory banks and entire libraries, to build it back to what it was, have really come along great. In fact, I may be able to do some back-door diplomacy, too, if I have to deal with governments that are slow to send their files!" Carinne was so relieved that she was laughing as she spoke. "I've really been sweating, waiting for this."

Saavik complimented her. "You have appeared very calm."

"Long practice in keeping my poker face on. Eating horrible things at receptions because my parents' missions depended on it, supposedly. Having my head patted by everyone taller than me. Being asked publicly how I liked the prime minister's niece's singing... Oh, I've had practice!"

Saavik liked her. It would be good to know, in the future, where people like Carinne could be found, competent subject experts whom a Federation Star Fleet officer could call on for help. If she herself were in command one day...

She cut short her own speculations. Carinne had finished her letters and coded them for instant transmission. "It's almost suppertime. Want to go out to eat with me?"

"To the Grub?" Saavik was a little tired of the place.

"How about Gaston's? It's vegetarian." Actually, Saavik would have liked a nice chunk of bloody meat – any kind – but the last thing she would do on this planet of nosy, observant, talkative teenagers was to indulge this desire. If Gaston's had some new variety of vegetable, she was glad for the chance to vary her diet.

"All right. Should I change clothes?" She really did not know; humans seemed to need to change for every occasion. Her blue tunic and black leggings looked fine to her. She had found that by asking her roommate's advice she could usually not go wrong.

"You look great. I'm the one who's going to have to put on something a little more civilized." She made a face at her gray denim coveralls. "I hope the sonicleaner's fixed."

"Jaime said it was. He claims that before it was, it destroyed half his clothing, but it is all right now."

"That's a major financial setback." Their neighbor had a taste for fine fabric and very expensive cut, and the girls (except for Saavik) teased him frequently about his singlehanded support of the New Gallia clothing-design industry.

"Not to change the subject too drastically," Saavik said, "but can you tell me about the noncorporeal people here on Akadem? I believe I saw one of the android males today." She would not mention that she had been ranging far afield from her usual academic paths.

"I know a few of them; they seem to have gravitated to the history departments," Carinne replied. "The only ones I know around Science I are Gessa and Sai Mamir. They're both Medeusans."

"I believe I saw Sai Mamir, then." Saavik pondered the incredible complex set of circumstances that would bring a Medeusan, with his pure-energy form and telepathic mind – and his appearance that in its true form would drive any beholder insane – into a body fabricated to allow movement among those graced with bodies of flesh and blood. To such a being a body would be a prison that nevertheless allowed freedom to roam the galaxy. "I have not yet had the chance to speak with such an individual. It would be a fascinating experience."

Carinne jerked a brush through her short red hair. (At least, it was red this week.) "There. I'm ready. As a matter of fact, I know that Sai likes Gaston's. We might run into him there. He doesn't need to eat like we do, but he's very social and his friends find him quite handy for helping them home if they need it."

As they left their quad, they saw Jaime coming out of his. "Going where, lovely ladies?"

"Gaston's. And I suppose you're off to study at the library?"

Jaime roared with mirth. "Don't you wish! You and Konor Thrav both. You ought to know better than that." Saavik vividly remembered several recent late-night crises next door, when she had heard Jaime's quadmates "helping him home", as Carinne had euphemistically put it. He was going to get himself tossed off-planet, at this rate. "Ah, you people are too serious. See you later at the Moon's Navel." With that, he swung down the hall in the opposite direction from the girls.

"No one said anything about going to the Moon's Navel," Saavik said with a tinge of alarm. She wondered why Jaime would expect to see either one of them at the planet's only legitimate exotic-dance club, where students in Saavik's year were not permitted to set foot.

It was Carinne's turn to laugh, with considerable affection for both Jaime and Saavik. "Dear child, that evil boy will say anything to get a laugh. Suspect _everything_ he tells you."

"I see. I fail to understand how he can stay out all night consuming alcoholic beverages and recreational drugs and spending his mental and physical energies on Orion dancing girls, and still expect to perform academically."

"He doesn't. Let's go already. Just keep your eyes open, Saavik. All this will come in handy in Star Fleet some day..."

Saavik was skeptical. "If you say so."


	12. Chapter 12: Vignettes

Chapter 12: Vignettes

Certain thoughts and conversations occurred that week before Quarter examinations that were not obviously related. However, what they revealed was important for the events of Gamma Quarter that year.

--

Ordinarily, Professor Sarader Komack, Ph.D., J.D., M.M.S., left her quarters at precisely 0645 hours, arrived on foot at the computer building, and checked to see if her student secretary had arrived yet. Komack replaced students quite often; it was usually a close race whether she would fire the student (cursing and shouting) or whether the student would quit (sobbing and trembling). Even among Komack's colleagues it was pretty well understood that whatever Komack had to say on the subject of personality differences had to be taken with a grain of salt (or, "don't bet your last credit on it").

Shulamith Kessi was already there, however, and Komack grumbled a 'Good morning" to her in passing. Once inside her office cubicle, she activated her terminal and ran through the day's index to scan appointments, schedules, and assignments of student computer time. Regular habits, including always checking behind her subordinates, had been instilled early in her life. Her father, Star Fleet Admiral Komack, had always had such habits, and it was the only way to keep things from falling apart.

On the screen she noted that the usual students were signed on for master computer time this day, many of them her advanced military-science students (whom some misguided people called "the phaser heads"), and Komack was pleased that there was always an eager crew of boys and girls just as fascinated with the arcana of military history, weapons, and tactics as she was. These she hoped to steer straight into Star Fleet Academy.

One name on the roster for the day gave her a sour turn in her stomach and put a snarling expression on her face, however. That business with the Romulan girl... Komack had had a number of acrimonious discussions with her colleagues about Tesat. On principle she'd been against admitting her on an equal basis with Federation students, wanting at least to put her under restrictions as to the Federation computer programs to which she was allowed access. She had lost that battle: Tesat had been on Akadem three years now, and Komack could not point to anything suspicious that the girl had done, apart from the practical joke with the spider. Sarader Komack felt it would be wiser for some of the other professors to admit that even a child could be a security risk. They had _laughed_ at her, she remembered; and when a young Klingon was admitted not long after, Komack had hit the roof, had registered protests, but had been overridden as before. Gale Kyllie had received her letters of protest, and had sent her an acknowledging message. And that had been that.

She now accessed Tesat's personal files – not strictly ethical, since the Romulan was not enrolled in any of the courses she taught, but quite easy for a systems expert like Komack. She scanned the girl's schedule. Federation history, advanced module... well, that could be used to justify use of the military science computer, she supposed. Komack didn't have to _like_ it. God damn it. Grimly she entered a code that would send a silent alert to her laptop unit when and if Tesat actually logged in. She would have a look at what the girl was reading, and what data manipulations she was making. No harm in that.

Satisfied, Sarader Komack strode from her office to the first class of the day, a co-op lecture with Joe Macmillan on the physics of the phaser and other fusion weapons. She loved her job. Everybody should have a job like this.

--

Stiel fell into step with his sister, crossing the Main after the noon meal hour, which he had spent in study with his group. T'Lemmi greeted him and they walked in silence for a moment; then the girl gave her twin a straight look.

"There is something troubling you." She spoke in Vulcan.

"I do not see you much any more. Your thoughts are veiled from me."

She arched her brows sharply. "As yours should be from me, Stiel. That _is_ what we have been endeavoring to learn to do."

Stiel had to admit that she was right. Where the technique of hiding or shielding one's own thoughts from others was difficult enough for the average Vulcan child to learn, it had presented a real challenge to T'Lemmi and Stiel, who were not only full-siblings but twins. Among Vulcans twins were extremely rare, and all the case literature on the phenomenon could be stored on one micropage. From earliest childhood, these two had kept up a free exchange between their minds, but before their tenth year a discipline had been imposed upon them to enable them to learn shielding techniques. Even now, in late childhood (they were seventeen years old by human reckoning), it was not yet second nature. So T'Lemmi was correct; if she did not let him see her thoughts, this was as it must be.

"You do not see me much this year because our course work has become more divergent," T'Lemmi pointed out.

"I had become accustomed to seeing you at supper. Now it is only seldom that I do."

"You know that I frequently eat supper with Tor. Since we are in most of the same classes, it is often convenient to join him after our late laboratory work." T'Lemmi was also in the pre-med program, although her direction was towards a career in experimental biology. Now she looked curiously at her brother as he strode beside her. "If I did not know you well I would suspect you of jealousy."

"That is preposterous. Emotion is not involved here. Why should it affect me if you spend time with a classmate? I do the same."

She would have smiled had she been accustomed to doing so. She thought about Stiel's riends – acquaintances – most of whom were other young Vulcans, or serious humans as immersed in chemistry as he was, or members of the faculty. Stiel would do well at the Vulcan Science Academy some day. But she was certain that none of her brother's friends was quite like Tor Srimandan.. "Of course you do. I assure you that I am not deliberately avoiding you, Stiel. In fact, I shall be in my room this evening studying, and if you wish, you can use Susan's terminal." Her human roommate was rarely there; she "visited" with another student on their floor. (T'Lemmi was puzzled by the euphemisms humans used for cohabitation.)

"That would be convenient." Stiel's quad was next to hers. "Will Tor be there?"

"Perhaps." Now T'Lemmi was certain that Stiel was un-Vulcanly jealous. Why this should be so, she did not know. Tor might be able to theorize... yet even he, with his unusually good sense for things Vulcan, did not know Stiel as well as she did.

They reached Cochrane House in silence. T'Lemmi went into her quad to study. Stiel went to his only long enough to retrieve some equipment, and left for an hour of recreation... not for "fun", of course, but for needed self-maintenance.

He did not know why he had brought up the subject with his sister. It alarmed him that he did not know. It was just that they had begun here at Akadem with a common purpose – to work together one day at the Science Academy – and now it seemed that T'Lemmi's thoughts were not his any longer. And he suspected that this had more than a little to do with Tor Srimandan.

--

"He's coming!" Luine jumped up from the compu/desk, yelping.

"Who? Shandor Gaskin? Filiz Toto?" Carinne sounded friendly and languid; she was sitting cross-legged on a sofa applying face cream.

Luine sighed impatiently at the older girl's teasing about her favorite juvenile vid stars. "My brother Gien! The younger one, you remember me telling you? Well, he's due for a two-week leave from his ship."

"He's coming _here_ for two weeks? God help him."

"No. He's got lots of places to stop, I'm sure, but he's going to take a few days here. He'll just hop in on one supply freighter and out on another."

"Space gypsy, huh?" Carinne was smiling affectionately at the younger girl. "He's your favorite brother, right?" Luine's family was well-known to all of them by now through her many stories. You had to give her credit: she didn't let Neill's hostility or Saavik's cool disinterest, or even Carinne's patronizing if genial manner dampen her spirits. Luine always approached things with punch and bravado. And she loved her family, talking endlessly about all of them.

"Oh, well, I like Bara fine, too, but he's a _lot_ older than me, more like an in-between father. And if he came to visit, he'd probably lecture me about my grades and my posture, and remind me of how many awards he won when he was here. Can I try that cream?" Carinne tossed the tube over. "Gien told me before I came here that he'd come and rescue me after the first Quarter. I wish it could be right now, before exams!"

"You're doing all right though, aren't you? Or is there something you aren't telling us?" Carinne herself maintained excellent grades with minimum study, but was certain Luine could not do the same trick.

"Oh, sure. Math is getting to me, but Saavik's helped me some. She sure is a whiz."

"Saavik's very quick, but that's not surprising, after all. And isn't Cran Pike still studying with you?"

Luine looked suddenly a little dejected. "No, not much any more. He kind of strings Holly and me along, like little sisters."

"Well, he _is_ seventeen; you've got to be practical about this. It takes a while to find all the right friends, and longer to find just the right guys, if that's what you're thinking about." Carinne remembered being about Lu's age and crying in frustration (careful not to let a cruel older roommate see) because she felt that at thirteen her social life was prematurely dead! And then she remembered being fourteen and discovering that the attraction did, after all, go both ways. She had never been in doubt since. "I can't promise you anything – but there are plenty of fish in the sea."

"We didn't have a sea on G77."

"Plenty of rocks on the pile, or whatever. Just think about your brother's visit. Let him take you out...but now, go study, girl!"

Luine scowled at her. "My _mother_ is on the survey ship _Lara Zhivago_. " She gave a Saavik-imitation eyebrow lift in Carinne's direction. "I wasn't aware that she'd dyed her hair red and come to live on Akadem!"

Carinne laughed. "You can spend hours and hours studying hard for the Super Poker Championship or whatever it is, and Gangbusters, or Stellar Pirate... so, a mere textbook on Boolean transformations and five-power equations shouldn't be too hard!"

"I know when I've been told to go to my room," Luine sighed again. It was true: evaluations were coming next week and nothing was going to be easy for her. And if she really wanted to hear the live band at Zephyr's tomorrow she'd better study (a little) right now. But Gien was coming; Gien was coming! Gien, who only had to show up on a planet for the whole place to change radically... It made sweating for finals almost worthwhile...


	13. Chapter 13: Exchange and Progress

Previous credit for all Star Trek characters created by people other than me goes to those people. You know who you are. Quote from Surak is from the _Proceedings of the Vulcan Academy _, Section XVII (Philosophy) v.112 no.8 ; S.D. 2116 "Sayings of Ancestor Surak and their timeliness in the Age of Change", T'Sarel dh'Utiyeh

Chapter 13: Exchange and Progress

Saavik to Spock, greetings:

I am very pleased with my Quarter results. I have been assured of being able to pass into the fourth- year level of Lower division after the next Quarter. As you had warned me, the computer work has been more difficult than that which you and T'Masi gave me on board _Stanek._ Hakat has made the subject quite clear, however, and I believe his approach is very like yours.

Spock, I send you greetings also from Kollos the Medeusan. I met his sister-son, a student in the Middle division, and on perceiving me as a Vulcan Sai Mamir immediately spoke of you; apparently his mother-brother considers you a friend of long standing. Sai was positively emotional on learning that I was acquainted with you, and insisted that I transmit the greetings Kollos evidently sent via space communication, I am consistently gratified at the respect you have earned from people of a variety of species. Forgive me, please, if I am being presumptuous.

I find my limited association with Hakat a true honor. He is most helpful. My human instructors also are excellent and demand much of me. I cannot feel comfortable with their inevitable emotions and their jokes, but I try to understand.

... Here, Saavik paused in her dictation. She could make these letters fill up several small electro-communications bursts if she allowed her questions and her perplexities free rein. In her last letter, she had told Spock about Dibrat and Paul, and had even mentioned Tor and T'Lemmi, as well as Luine's questions. Perhaps Spock would get the impression that she was becoming gossipy and shallow. Then she had checked her thoughts: Spock would know all there was to know about her, after all. Between her and her teacher there were few barriers, at least from her side. And he himself had let down some of his most private walls to permit her to benefit from his experiences and to give her some start in self-confidence. Saavik could ask him anything. She remembered with embarrassment some of the questions she had asked, all of which Spock had answered with grave and careful deliberation, as if they were from a Nobel scholar or a doctor at the Vulcan Academy. She continued to dictate...

While you speak highly of Sunek, I have only spoken with him during my Triad conferences. To be frank, I have had few conversations with Vulcans since arriving here. This disturbs me. Perhaps it should not. My contact with other species is much greater than I had anticipated, and I am gratified that the experience is available.

In this coming (Gamma) Quarter, I shall be participating in more small-seminar studies. You recommended a course in ethics, which I have registered for. It is to be taught by Hakat. He says that it will include Vulcan ethics; I am rereading some of Surak and Shaalat from the philosophy database in preparation. I shall also have a course in literature, although I feel it will only be an exercise in abstractions for me. I am quite unsure about the prospect of writing poetry. I see no logic in the little I have read of it.

I shall end here. I continue to grow physically, and am often addressed as if I were several years older that I probably am. These are harmless remarks but only serve to remind me of my distance from human experiences.

Spock, be well and prosper, as I hope also to do. I shall be interested in knowing your new assignment and other news about yourself.

--

Spock to Saavik, peace and long life.

From now on you may send messages to me on board the U.S.S. _Enterprise_, where I have been assigned as Captain, to be concerned primarily with Star Fleet crew and officer training missions. Your good wishes are appreciated. It is indeed gratifying to return to the ship on which I served almost twenty years, although as you know I had requested only a position as Chief Science Officer.

Your progress is encouraging, Saavik. I receive reports directly from your preceptor and your other instructors, and have no reason to question anything they have reported. Your letters reveal to me that you are learning about the behaviors of different life-forms; just as your questions reveal how much you still need to learn. You do well to ask your closest associates whatever questions you think they can answer fairly. It is not impossible to have a human friend or friends, not even for a Vulcan, as long as you have no fears that admitting friendship might diminish you. I did not think it possible at first, but learned how precious such friendship is for people of _any _race who have no fixed home.

To answer the matter of the mixing of species, you know my opinion. It might be wise to consider the philosophy of Surak: "I see the Vulcan Way, and it is mine, and I choose it," he told those who came to challenge him from among the unregenerate tribes on the other side of Vulcan, "and you see a way that goes elsewhere, and it is yours. If you choose it, you go away from me. Yet, in the places beyond where our eyes can perceive, may your way and mine not approach, and run parallel, and draw near? Let us continue then to speak even after our roads have led us out of sight of each other, so that in meeting on the other side we may approach each other still speaking. For while we speak we do not strike."

Where the speaking has stopped, as with the young Tellarite you mentioned, there is the potential for tragedy. And remember how different the Vulcan is from the human in general physical maturity. The young Vulcan female you spoke of – while I do not know her – probably sees friendship with the human boy as would a child: a pure, pleasant association with few sexual undertones. It is, of course, a private matter, and whatever questions the boy may have he must resolve himself.

Saavik, in this same general area, there may be some questions on your part. If there are, I shall try to answer as far as Vulcan use and custom are concerned. Among humans, it is customary for a female to undertake the answering of biological questions for girls, but among us any trusted adult may do so. What your non-Vulcan part may bring into the equation I do not know. Start to observe yourself; you will more easily learn what is right for Saavik.

When this messages arrives it will have been four years to the day that you found the courage to walk into the scientists' camp on Hellguard. As it is the custom in many societies to honor the day of one's birth, let me honor the day you took the first steps toward civilization. This shall be your birthday, if you agree. You may not see the logic of having one, but it gives friends the opportunity to honor you. Live long and prosper.

...Saavik looked at the flat package that had come with the old-fashioned message cassette. Her birthday? She had never known the real day. There was an odd prickle to her skin, and the fine hairs stood as if from the cold. She worked open the autoseal. Inside was an oval, bronze-framed mirror, the patterns incised in the metal reflecting the asymmetrical Vulcan style. For a moment she sat at her compu/desk, looking at the pensive reflection in that frame... In other years Spock had mentioned that day as a convenient marker for her age...but never had she thought of it in that formal way, and never had she had a gift. She held the fine old frame carefully between her palms. She was fourteen. She would find what was "right for Saavik". Spock was counting on it.


	14. Chapter 14: Brother

_The usual credit goes to the usual people for the usual characters and plots. _

Part II: Gamma Quarter

Chapter 14: Brother

Luine cut her history class, trusting in Holly's tapes to catch her up later. It was a large enough class that her absence would only be noted by the attendance computer scan... and _that_ could be fixed. Instructors hardly ever checked those records so early in the Quarter, according to Ken Deal and other noted slackers.

She had to be sure not to miss Gien's shuttle. At the landing field she arrived much too early but occupied herself with some computer work for math class. This made her feel virtuous: not only had she already finished the assignment, but these were actually supplementary problems that Saavik had suggested she should do. It made up, in her mind, for the missed history session.

Finally the scheduled shuttle swooped down and the small contingent of passengers climbed out. Luine strained her eyes to see Gien from behind the arrival barrier. There were three technicians in full kit, obviously down to do some serious maintenance; several students returning two weeks late for the Gamma Quarter. No Gien. Almost convinced that he must have missed the connection, she was about to consult the nearest computer for more information, when she saw one last passenger emerge, carrying two bags. It _looked_ like a freighter crew uniform... the man started to walk toward the waiting area. Yes, it was her brother's jaunty walk.

"Gien! Here!" she called, almost crying with relief. She had survived all the shocks of her first Quarter away from home, and she badly needed this messenger from home. The young man spotted her too, and jogged a little faster, dropping one of his bags just inside the gate, to sweep his little sister into an embrace.

"Hey, little bug, are ya still yer sweet self?" He was tall and well filled out from hard work, and Luine buried her face gratefully in his shoulder, smelling the machine oil and mingled shipboard odors on Gien's uniform. She clung to his arm as he picked up the dropped bag.

"How long can you stay? Don't worry about anything – stay as long as you can! I can cut classes for a few days."

Gien laughed fondly and looked her up and down. "Hey, you look great. Slow down, slow down. Where do we go first?"

"There's a quad on my floor with only two guys in it right now. They said you could use the extra bed in one of the rooms. So how long are you staying? Answer me!" She actually stamped her foot.

"I don't know! It depends on – on how long I can take it in the grand world of academe." Here, he made a wry face. "You haven't become a prime-grade student since you got here, have you?" He was thinking of his brother Bara, with whom he had never got along very well.

Luine shook her head as she led Gien toward the port exit. "Oh, no! I'm doing all right but it's not so easy for me." They were stopped by an Akadem Security officer, a grad student earning some off-hours credits. Gien showed his freighter ID pass and leave card, and the boy waved them through with a bored expression. Gien held on to his two bags securely as they passed out the gate and he seemed to relax considerably once they had stepped onto the mover. They would have to ride all the way around the periphery of the Main to Jenner House.

Gien listened politely, with a patience needed by older brothers for younger sisters who adore them, nodding appreciatively as Luine described the buildings and the parts of the Science I complex that they saw on the way. His thoughts were elsewhere...

Luine took him to the quad shared by two human Middle division students, Gobesh Dal and Norm Graberth. Only Gobie was there at the moment. He showed Gien where to leave his things and how everything worked, and where he could wash up. Gien told Luine that he would be ready for her "to take me exploring" in half an hour. She returned to her own quad feeling free as a bird (she liked the sound of that expression...even though she had never seen a bird before visiting Akadem's aviary).

Gien Kai-Mekelen decided to skip the sonic shower, and quickly changed into something less conspicuous than a freighter's crew coverall. Looking to see that he was not observed, he keyed some inquiries into the room's nearest computer, swearing at the delay. Then the information he wanted rolled onto the screen. He carefully noted the vital data, the schedule, and the locations he would have to check.

--

Luine obtained Holly's tape that afternoon and made a half-hearted show of studying from it. She confessed to Saavik that she was not going to go to classes while Gien's precious leave was ticking away. Saavik said nothing; she had been introduced to Gien and found him a superficial, overly jovial young man with a nervous habit of darting his eyes rapidly from side to side as if on the lookout for someone. It was with considerable relief that she watched Luine and her brother depart for an evening of meeting friends at the Grub, followed by a few drinks at Zephyr's. Saavik did not care what type of entertainment others favored; it was sufficient that she have this time alone to deal with a particularly troublesome assignment for her multi-Quarter physics course. The coveted peace and quiet were sometimes hard to find.

--

Zephyr's was crowded and noisy, but everyone was polite and welcoming. Gien looked around, amused at all the youngsters in their earnest and not-so-earnest discussions. Part of him was enjoying the role of grown-up brother being shown off by his dear little sister. He really did love Lu and was proud that she'd finally got her wish to get off G-77. It sure wasn't _his_ way, though, and after less than an hour he asked to be excused. "Just for a moment, I have to check on something." They had been talking with some of Luine's friends – all young kids – and he seemed almost relieved to get away. Luine looked at him with a slightly wounded expression.

"Oh, sure.. but we don't _have _to go yet. I still have plenty of time on my entry card."

"No one said you had to go, O.K.? I'm just stepping out for a moment."

Luine continued chattering with her companions but wondered what Gien was seeking that he couldn't ask her about. He seemed to be gone quite a long time, and when he slipped back into the chair by her side he looked somewhat distant. She felt some of her fun had been spoiled.

"Look, I'm sorry, Lu," he explained contritely later, giving her a hug as they finally left Zephyr's. "There was a tech on the ship who came down here on the same shuttle with me – and I had to find him to tell him about some of his stuff that I picked up by mistake, O.K.? So I just used the terminal in the office behind the kitchen to track him down and leave the message."

Well, that was good. Gien wasn't bored with her company or her friends after all. On the monocar back to the Science complex, she plied him with questions about freighter life, and they shared information from their infrequent letters from their parents. She left him at the door to her quad with a much lighter heart.

Gien watched until he was sure that his sister had really gone in, hoping that she would retire for the night and not decide to come seeking him for late-night confidences. He pulled a jacket over his clothes, checked that his bags hadn't been moved from under his borrowed bed. All was as he had left it. Gien left Gobie's room and the quad when he guessed it was late enough for most people to be in their rooms. He walked carefully down the hall, descended by the stairs, meeting no one; once outside, he walked across the complex, traveling in shadows as much as possible. At the far side of the Main, he sat down on a bench under a pavilion. Akadem's four moons were at various phases tonight; the smaller two were full, the largest barely visible in last crescent, and the oddly-shaped bluish one hung in half-promise to the far west of the full ones. There was enough light to read the hard-copy that the room computer had given him earlier.

He tensed at a sound to his right. A figure was leaning against one of the pavilion's graceful pillars. Gien dared not break the silence; the instructions had forbidden it. The other man was playing the game better than he was: he barely betrayed any impatience.

Finally, a low, soft voice: "Do you know Kenyon?"

Relief! That was the code phrase, and he was ready with his. "Yes, and he gave me a box of caramels for Marge." He added in a hurry, "That is, if you're Avennen." God, was he clumsy.

There was a short laugh. "Quite a coincidence if I wasn't, huh?" The figure peeled away from the pillar and a younger man sat casually by him. Gien guessed he might be a student, perhaps one in his last year, or maybe a postgraduate. He looked nineteen or twenty, tops, but a much rougher twenty than some of the crewpeople of that age on his own ship, the _Halcyon. _

"You have a drop from Kenyon."

"Yeah, safe and sound. Right on time."

"All right. I can run it to – uh, the proper party myself, or I can set it up for you to do the exchange. Might be best if I do it – I'm less likely to be noticed as a stranger here, and I know pretty much where to find the receiver."

Gien really did not like this. If he hadn't needed the funds so desperately he'd never have gone in for Kenyon's game. He also didn't know what was actually in the packet given him by the in-station engineer at that last space hub they'd visited... but it would mean a lot of money coming to him in untraceable plastic trade scrip, some of which had already bought him out of a night in the brig after that incident with the...oh, well, better not to think about all that anymore. Moving on... now the seedy-looking student beside him seemed ready to take over; he obviously had the plans all hacked out. "I'll check on my terminal all day tomorrow," Gien said, hoping to appear more in control from his end. "Anytime you set up the meeting, I can go."

..._And get this damned thing over with_. Gien was not the best friend of galactic legalities, but he had an uneasy feeling that, even if the packet did not concern illegal material, it was at least a damned weird way of conducting business. He wondered if it might be drugs – but, nowadays, what _wasn't _legal? It was not the way it was in the vid-dramas from the old days, when all the good stuff was illegal and people made bundles from smuggling it.

Avennen grunted. "Good. No problem, I'll set it up. And my cut is twenty percent."

"I'll have it, don't worry." As a matter of fact, Gien barely had that much left from the sum Kenyon had given him, but he would see that the man got his money. Avennen vanished as he had come; Gien noticed that the sickly crescent moon had set by the time he started the long walk back to Jenner House. He hoped that after tomorrow he'd have time to be a better brother to Luine. Poor kid, she was looking forward to his visit. He sure hated to spoil any part of it for her. But this business, at least right now, had to come first.


	15. Chapter 15: Hold Fast to Dreams

_What is Paramount's is Paramount's, and what is mine is mine. The limerick I overheard in a Rigellian bar. The poem "Casey at the Bat" was written by the human Ernest Lawrence Thayer in 1888. The poem "Dreams" was written by Langston Hughes, also an Earth poet, sometime in the first half of the twentieth century._

Chapter 15: "Hold Fast to Dreams..." 

Saavik permitted herself the inner equivalent of a sigh of relief. Someone else had been chosen to "read with expression" and she would not have to submit herself to that ordeal. So far, this entire poetry section had been an ordeal. Dr. Folsom assigned background readings and expected her students to become familiar with the culture of each period to be covered. Class time was for explanation and "appreciation" of the poetry itself. Saavik frankly found much of it an illogical waste of energy and time.

So far, there had been a sampling of Terran poets from the Roman classical period; from the ancient Renaissance (here the challenge consisted in reading them in the original languages with the aid of the quickgloss program to get over the tricky parts); and from the last century before humans achieved space flight. The latter were selections from poets in the English, Spanish, Chinese, and Arabic languages. The entire course covered two or three Quarters; at this stage, Saavik was not sure she could endure it for another Quarter, if she had any choice.

In her judgment, humans were reflected in their poetry as obsessed either with military glory or with that perennial fixation known as "love". The human students in the class seemed to take this with a mixture of boredom and mild interest. The non-humans were ambivalent; still, the course would give equal attention later to poetry of at least five other major cultures, and they seemed satisfied with that.

Dr. Mianette Folsom had managed to evoke an interest in Saavik during the last Quarter by helping her to extend her feelings for music and dance to at least a conceptual understanding of other arts. But this course would be harder: Saavik did not relish the thought of writing poetry, as they would all be asked to do at the end of each segment of the course. How was she to "crawl into the skin of another", as Dr. Folsom had suggested? How was she to use words, the tools and expressive agents of logical thought, and arrange them in these odd, haphazard, emotion-charged patterns, to write of feelings that were alien to her?

Furthermore, after hearing what several of her human classmates had called "poetry", she had doubts even about the definition of the word, much less of its logic. What was she supposed to think of

_"There once was a tourist from Terra_

_Who landed on Delta by erra..."_

and many far, far worse than that?

Or how about Paul Loman's contribution?

_"It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine that day;_

_The score stood two to four, with but an inning left to play..."_

As far as Saavik could tell, this so-called poem concerned a wretched contest in an Earth sport that most people had never heard of. Dr. Folsom, however, had laughed and merely commented that she would place "Casey at the Bat" into its own class, and could they now return to John Milton, please?

Folsom listened to a rather overdramatic reading from one of the human students, and then compared Elizabeth Barrett Browning with several other Earth poets from the pre-space flight era. She spent some time discussing Nature and its influence on the poetry of that time. Saavik listened and recorded her words, impressed all the more by these poets' distance from the realities of her own experience. She could very well sit on the turf on the Main, or in any other restful spot on the planet, and hear insects humming, or feel the sun's warm rays; she could observe the moons and the star patterns, as she had on many nights during her solitary walks; she could visit the zoo and the aviary, or the botanical gardens, and compare the exotic and beautiful creatures from all over the galaxy. But she doubted whether she could translate the factual description of all this into language that excited tears, imagination, rage. _That_ was the crux. And when it came to glorifying rulers and battles, or transforming simple biological urges into "romantic" poetry – no, that was illogical, and the attempt itself would be foreign to her.

Fortunately, she had spent extra time rereading some of the representative poets of Earth's twentieth and twenty-first centuries, which Dr. Folsom was now comparing briefly with the romantic-era writers. When the instructor, who spared no one and missed nothing, caught her eye, Saavik was prepared with at least some coherent answer.

"I want some of your reactions to the image fragmentation trend, especially among the North American and European poets. And think of the political revolutions occurring during that time, and the differences you see in the subject matter of the poems on your sample tapes. Saavik?"

She carefully thought about some of the impressions she had formed. "There was a deviation from the romantics, taking several forms. Nature and the praise of the poet's lover are not generally evident. Introspection, obsession with political chaos; Mao is one example, combining poetry with dialectic prose..." She saw Dr. Folsom nod, and decided that as long as the discussion remained analytical and she could concentrate on facts, she could follow it. Encouraged, Saavik continued. "Classic poetic forms dissolve... that is another difference. Content seems to overshadow phrasing, meter, and rhyme - all those devices that earlier poets relied upon."

"Does the content then emerge any clearer?"

Saavik decided she could only answer honestly. "In many cases, expression is so vague, and experimentation with words so undirected, that there is no logical content whatever." She had fought it out with Ferlinghetti and with certain French and Hispanophone selections, and had seen no reason for their existence. From the reactions of certain of her classmates she sensed that they disagreed strongly, but Folsom's expression held no criticism. She merely looked at another student.

"Corvei? Your reaction."

Corvei Marchese's words tumbled over each other. "Those were experimenters, sure, but their laboratory was the mind! Those poems came from minds that for the first time roamed in forbidden areas – self-knowledge, sexuality, revolution against custom! The style is just the chaos of their birth." The boy was one whom Saavik had already mentally classified as a zealot, and he frequently had loudly enthusiastic or critical words to say about whatever the class was studying.

The instructor seemed to be drawing herself away from the discussion, leaving the students in charge; Saavik waited several moments, then ventured, "Chaos degenerates and kills if no order is imposed. A person can explore these things privately to understand them, and does not need to impose that chaos on everyone else."

"That's just the point! He – she, whatever, has _got_ to expose it! It's a matter of growth. It transforms things."

"Things? Society? The individual?" Saavik challenged Corvei. She was not interested in argument for argument's sake, but did not want to let pass a single chance to understand what a human's thought processes really were like. "Do you say that expressing absolutely everything that crosses one's mind, without any thought for organization, actually changes the behavior of societies?"

Marchese lifted his hands in disgust. "I didn't invent this philosophy! It happens to be the trend of these poets at this time. They _were_ absurd – on purpose!" He was exasperated, a bright fifteen-year-old, a boy in emotional if not intellectual development. Stung by Saavik's stony, incredulous stare, Corvei burst out, "I guess _you_ can't understand that, it's got to be a literal equation, or a form-dialectic, to suit _you_. Poetry isn't all head, Saavik, it's heart and spirit, too." Dr. Folsom was nodding; it was a good point, a fair one that Saavik would have to absorb. The boy went on, "If there's something a person just isn't able to grasp, that's not the poet's fault, or the poem's either. You have to be able to see the reason for poetry at all, and _feel_ for the poet...and if he happens to be sick with the diseases of his time, you have to be able to identify with _that_. But maybe _you_ can't be expected to see -"

Here, Dr. Folsom was about to intervene; she did not allow students to bait each other over matters of species or class or spiritual beliefs. Having a Vulcan in a poetry class was an interesting problem for her, but Saavik's fellow students must learn to see her clinical evaluations of this emotional medium as a fact of life and not a belittling of their own cultures – and they should not be allowed to belittle hers. Saavik took her own defense, however.

"I am very aware of my own inability to appreciate the emotional impacts of poetry. But there has been no difficulty with the previous trends we have studied, in seeing the subject matter, understanding the point of view of the poet, or perceiving the structure and audible harmonies of the piece. That is not so difficult. Absurdist 'poetry' does not have anything to help me comprehend it; if the poet _had_ an important message, the fault for his failure to transmit it rests with him."

"In your opinion." Corvei Marchese had relaxed now; it was a bit of relief to him that the Vulcan girl had not gone into a long, logical analysis of his views.

"In my opinion."

Dr. Folsom took in a deep breath, glad that Saavik had defended herself and that Corvei had conceded the attack. Poetry classes sometimes broke into verbal abuse, but usually this was among the grimmer, more involved Upper division students in the humanities track, not among base-level students like these. She gently reminded them that there were multiple trends in twentieth and especially twenty-first century poetry, not all of them fragmentationist or absurdist. She read from an American poet:

_"Hold fast to dreams _

_For if dreams die_

_Life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly..."_

"This was one man whose racial group was still under oppression, years after the technical end to race slavery in his country. His people perceived that they had no hope of a change in conditions. The promise given them earlier had come to little or nothing.

"Each creature in the universe that can think, can dream. In some cultures, it is suppressed in favor of pure work and physical accomplishment; the dreams of those people manifest as plans and schemata drawn up for society's progress. They 'dream' only those things that they know intellectually can be done, and be well done.

"For some, the very act of dreaming is all they can have, and they are content for the moment with the _status quo ante_, while reserving enough time to develop fantasy. They use various means of escape to help them with this. Their thought is captivating, fantastical, terrifyingly inventive, but not very practical in the end. They dream in order to amuse.

"The dream to which Langston Hughes holds fast, involves a tension between his hopes that he really will find a place for himself, even in the reality of a society that has thwarted him on all sides. The bird _wants_ to fly, knows it is _meant_ to fly; its wings are restrained. He knows the real danger comes if the bird permits its wings to be broken, not just tied down. He almost does not dare to dream; it is hard to continue to do so when the danger of despair and eternal loss is so imminent." Dr. Folsom paused. "This is a short poem but an excellent example of the political and social orientation of poetry in that era, which doesn't ignore form and nature images. Surely none of you would say that he said _nothing_?" She glanced at her students – those who sought "meaning", those who preferred structure, those who were trying to just survive this course... She noted that Saavik had her head bowed over her screen, unseeing, as if the poem had just begun some alien train of thought in her. Good.

"Remember that each poem like this stirs something up. Crudely put, messing around with poetry can be dangerous.

"We're almost out of time. Be prepared to compare today's work with the poetry of the First Contact era." Some bizarre but truly beautiful works had emerged from that time, when Earth's people had first moved to the stars, making their initial forays among other sentient peoples... the cultural and moral shock involved, as well as the relief and delight of discovering that humankind was not alone. Folsom always enjoyed the first reactions of both humans and non-humans to the literature of that exciting time. Anything could happen!


	16. Chapter 16: Fruitless Meetings

_What is Paramount's is Paramount's, and what is mine is mine. No one else would probably ever want a character like Gien Kai-Mekelen, so I guess he's safe with me._

Chapter 16: Fruitless Meetings

Gien had insisted that Luine not skip that morning's classes; he said he would find enough to do and would be back at Jenner House when she returned. She had felt like a martyr, surprised by the vehemence of his insisting... but she consoled herself with the thought that she only had a few more classes during the time Gien was to be on Akadem.

Her brother lost no time once she had left. Turning down an invitation from Gobie Dal to come and watch a _korroki_ match (this was a popular Akadem sport that mixed certain aspects of field hockey and badminton), Gien remained in the quad with the room terminal set to call mode.

The expected call came in less than an hour. Avennen had activated the two-way video and Gien thought there was something uneasy about his expression. "Look, pal, we're going to have to work it different. The, uh, contact for some reason doesn't, uh, trust me, wants to meet you in person."

"What's the trouble? Is this someone Kenyon knows?"

"Not really... it's sort of a hunch of mine. Listen, bring it to the monocar station just north of the Arts complex, west escalator. At 1300 hours."

To them it seemed that Avennen was making it all a bit too dramatic: not naming the contact; arranging a meeting, as if this were a gamma-grade vid for half-wits. He hit the break key and checked his chrono. 1300 hours was not very damned convenient; he'd have to make an excuse not to be here for lunch, and Lu would suspect something was up. Well, _that _couldn't be helped; the best way would be to leave now and just not be back when she came in from class. The explanation could be handled later when the job was done and off his neck.

He called up Luine's public file, the one accessible to any student or terminal user, and left her a brief apology without an explanation; she would find it when she keyed in her messagehold file. She was bound to do that as soon as she saw he was gone. Retrieving the package from his bag, Gien slipped it into the kind of ordinary beltbag that almost everyone wore. Certainly no one would remark upon it. He decided to walk, maybe have a late breakfast at one of the student places. It was a kind of ego booster, being among so many kids. Maybe they'd even think he was some junior professor or something, that would be a nice switch from being the lowest peon on his freighter.

--

Not for the first time in her years on Akadem, Tesat wanted to throw everything she owned into a sack, burn or smash anything that wouldn't fit inside, and hijack a ship, if necessary, to get back to Helva. The _adventure_ of being the only Romulan on this cursed Fed planet had palled pretty quickly. The human sympathy of people like Caryamandis and her roommate Rufia, and Hakat's alien but compassionate approach, had calmed her time and again, but _one _of these days...

That slimegrob Avennen should be glad he had approached her over the vid and not in person. Not only had he made assumptions about her, but he'd had the nerve to infer her behavior patterns. She didn't even know him, except possibly as an older student she'd seen around in the past, one who should have graduated by now. He had spoken of someone who "had something that ought to come to _your people's_ attention", and "pretty reliable information about Federation weaponry."

What was the fool talking about? She had asked him, relishing it as she did so, whether he was talking about espionage, and did she understand that there was classified information she was supposed to transmit to the Romulan government? There had been a panicky silence at the other end. Avennen's face had been pasty white on the monitor, then - "For galaxy's sake, girl, are you _trying_ to be overheard?"

She had informed him curtly that she did not appreciate the contact, and to tell his friends to peddle their crap elsewhere. Frankly, she did not believe that there was anything to these "military secrets"; probably whatever it was could be pulled out of Federation records by any decent computer students.

Part of her was incensed, too, by the continuing suspicion under which she lived. Just by being a Romulan, Tesat was _prima facie_ a candidate for treason against the Federation. She found it mildly amusing that on the rare occasions she visited her planet Helva, family acquaintances looked at her as something _less_ than Romulan because she was gaining the culture and knowledge of the United Federation of Planets. Only her own grim determination to excel in the sciences, and eventually to make contributions in fields where little work was being done in the Empire, kept her here on Akadem – that, and her extraordinary parents who were viewed as radicals on Helva.

Tesat had suspected, and now had pretty good confirmation, that at least one faculty member "had it in" for her. She had noticed that someone had tampered with her master program, that her file access was being monitored. Add to that the overt hostility of that damned Admirals' witch of a daughter, and it wasn't hard to figure it out. She would go right to Komack's student secretary one of these days, and ask straight out if Komack was spying on her! She enjoyed the thought of what she could – would – do if she could get solid evidence. She wouldn't mind seeing Sarader Komack squirm before a Faculty-Student Board of Inquiry.

Now was when she wished she had a real friend here. Caryamandis probably qualified in some respects, but she was sympathetic and understanding with _everyone_. Tesat wanted a friend with whom she could "kvetch" (an expression her roommate used a lot; it sounded right), and also find the relief of pure Romulan rage. Having to be so civilized all the time took its toll. Once, some weeks ago, she had been the victim of a peculiar sensory illusion: while monitoring in the computer lab, Tesat had come face to face with a student who her instincts and eyes told her was a Romulan. But the girl had not responded in the mother tongue when she addressed her, and Tesat had seen on second look that this one was a Vulcan. She had not then let her shame and consternation show, but regretted truly that this Saavik was not Romulan. It would have been just too good to be true.

--

Disappointed, Luine sat in the Grub alone for lunch, trying to figure out where Gien might have gone. She in turn had left a message for the terminal in Gobie's room, that she'd be here. All caution to the winds! She ordered a Kentaur and nursed it slowly, not really liking the taste. She barely touched the green salad. And it was a measure of her anxiety for her brother, that she greeted the appearance of one of the technicians from Gien's ship with wild waving of both arms. He came over, a much older man, a little tough-looking. She forced a smile to meet his look of puzzlement.

"You came off _Halcyon_ with my brother, Gien Kai-Mekelen, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah, you're Gien's sister. So where is he? I thought he was staying with you." He remained standing.

"He's looking up some other people here."

"Not very friendly of him, huh? Say, I'm Harry Bayes." The man finally sat down. "Your brother's a real character, always coming up with some new screwy thing to do." He looked around. "This is a student hangout, right? Good. My finances can't handle that Galaxia Restaurant over near the guest house they're putting us up at. As long as we're not gettin' meal credits on these repair runs, I'll stick with cheap student places." He went on to explain the kinds or repair jobs he and the other techs did on their planet stops, collecting defective machinery from institutions and delivering the ones they'd repaired.

Luine looked skeptical, thinking of something Harry had just said. "But you guys get paid a lot, don't you?" She grinned and accused him, "I'll bet you gamble it all away!"

"None of your business, child. And who told you we get paid anything worth talking about? The thought positively makes me laugh! Did Gien tell you that?"

"Well, no..." And she told him what she had seen at Zephyr's the night before, when Gien had paid for their order. The pack of credit slips he had inadvertently shown her had been most impressive. "Maybe he won it gambling," she suggested, unsure if she should be talking about this with a stranger.

"Him? Gien hasn't ever won anything gambling. He's got the worst luck of any spacer I've ever seen. In fact, I get a lot of his pay off him that way... Hell, I don't know where he got it all."

She excused herself, embarrassed about the money. She was more than a little resentful of her brother's absence, and all she wanted now was for him to come back so they could have some fun.

--

Meeting Avennen in daylight by the monocar station was not any less surreal than meeting him on a bench under the pavilion at night... like a bad vid. The younger man gave only the briefest greeting, then they boarded the monocar once more to meet the contact. Gien was mystified. They were riding back toward the Science I complex, once more giving that impression of deliberate drama. "Here," Avennen said, and they alit at the stop before the complex itself. All Gien could see was an athletic park: pool, greensward, racquet courts, running track.

The other led him to a bench by the track and pointed to a lone figure running on the far side. "There's your contact," he hissed, and without further word he left him and ran at top speed back to the monocar stop. This was really unbelievable, really weird.

Gien waited until the runner got closer, stood up to come towards him – _her_? He saw curly cropped hair, but the figure was definitely female. She saw him, too, and slowed, frowning as he approached her. She gave him an acute appraisal, still bouncing up and down lightly to cool down from running. "Are you looking for me"?

He saw only one important thing about her, once he got a closer look. A Vulcan? Those ears... no, by God, a Romulan! "Avennen told me you might be interested in something I -"

She snarled, and Gien stepped back as if bitten. "That son of a she-skrat! I am _not_ dealing with Avennen! I am _not _expecting a 'delivery', not from you, not from anyone! I have NO interest in whatever you _think_ you have!"

Gien fell silent before this barrage. She obviously meant what she was saying, or she was a most convincing liar. And he cursed himself as an idiot – never once had he had the guts to open the package he'd been given. He told her so, and quite expected the look of contempt she shot him. "Well, go ahead," she taunted, "see if it's something I ought to see!"

He fumbled open the simple seals on the cover of the packet. It was a plastic folder that could be sealed on all four edges. Inside was a diagram accompanied by a computer hard-copy covering three pages of literature references, and several pages of hand-scrawled text. He didn't have to read any of it; he saw that the content was military, knew with a sick feeling what it was that Kenyon had set him up for. His eyes met the Romulan's, stricken. She set her mouth grimly. "Do you see? Is it worth wasting your time on?"

"I never thought -"

"So, think. Your friend Avennen thought, too – thought he could use me. Either he's trying to shaft the Federation, or he's trying to flush _me_ out as a spy!"

"He's not my friend! I never met him before yesterday. And I'm _sorry,_ O.K.?" Gien's voice had an edge of desperation; he was miserable. His one consolation was that he hadn't handed a single credit marker over to Avennen in this slimy business. She nodded briefly.

"I believe you. For me, this isn't a surprise at all. Do what you want with those papers, just get them off this planet and away from me."

"I'll destroy them." She nodded. Gien rose, too sick inside for any more conversation, and boarded the next monocar, back to the Science complex.

--

Sarader Komack would never have thought herself vindictive. Vigilant, yes, but not vindictive. Vigilance had got her nothing substantive so far on Tesat's use of military files... but the programmed-in signal had alerted her this morning. The Romulan had had a personal call and had switched to her private frequency. Tesat _never_ got personal calls. And when a rather distressed young man walked into her office late that afternoon, Komack gave him her full attention while he told a hell of a story. She felt a deep, inner satisfaction. All the planning had paid off. _She had her. _


	17. Chapter 17: No Heroes

_The usual credit is given for Paramount-created characters and plot references._

Chapter 17: No Heroes

Saavik sat at her compu/desk, reading the First Contact poems Dr. Folsom had assigned. She switched screens to records her impressions on the electronic tablet but drew a blank. In frustration, she activated the private file she had started at the beginning of this quarter, the one in which she stored personal thoughts.

This was what she would like to tell Dr. Mianette Folsom:

_To those old Terran poets nature, love, and the yearnings of the emotions are the subjects of endless romantic rhapsodizing. That is perhaps the correct thing for them, given their native environment. I do not know Earth except as a place in the writings of others. But I do know Hellguard. Let me tell you about it, Dr. Folsom:_

_Hellguard's population did not evolve on that planet. You will not even find it in the registry of Romulan Empire colony planets. There is no lovely myth of creation for my home world, no heroic conquest, no epic to explain its origin. It was a quasi-military settlement which the Imperial government virtually ignored, so that all kinds of piracy and unethical scientific research took place there. Such is the "heroic" nature of Hellguard._

"_Nature", on Hellguard, is salty desert, barren rock, unproductive fields, leaden skies, and short, nasty seasons. There is no other way to describe it._

Saavik paused here, remembering the blue star and the yearnings she had felt when contemplating it. Hold fast to dreams... She did not mention the star in her log-record.

_And aside from the fact that I do not know the true definition of "love", I suspect that it is not to be found on Hellguard. In human poetry it seems to refer to the feelings between men and women who share a biological relationship... or between people in the same family... or even between a person and an ideal, or this strange phenomenon of a deity so many profess to revere. Quite simply, on my planet there was violence, coercion, rape, there was assassination and intrigue; ties of family never got in the way of any of these. There were no deities except the ones that were invoked in curses or to witness blood oaths._

_If I were to write of what I have known, I would have to use as heroes the young boys and girls enslaved and smuggled off-planet, the children I knew who risked death or beatings to steal just a little more food, just a little more of anything we did not have. I would have to find some words for the shame of my own and other children's very existence – our conception under duress; the Romulan half of each of us due to a rape of sorts; the Vulcan parent taunted and shamed each day of his or her short remaining life, by the expectation of a monstrous half-breed child. Is this the stuff of poetry?_

Saavik really could not go on. Even reviewing something she had thought of so often was too painful to record in the impersonal circuits of a memory bank. She actually should erase what she had recorded so far but she did not. Having it expressed in that neutral and judgment-free format allowed her to pretend that she had shared it, as she never could in reality. Only to Spock... but that was _Spock_.

Mentally she shifted back to the needs of the present. Saavik recalled her screen and made her observations about the poems she had been reading. It was really rather interesting, showing a return to the earlier styles, full of philosophy on "Man" and the new races they had encountered – or been discovered by. But it still rang with emotion and yearning, and no more struck a chord within her than did the absurdists, or for that matter, the romantics.

--

"One of the guys off my ship owed me some money," he explained to Luine. "He got hold of me here and I went to get it. Thought I'd be back in plenty of time, but I'm afraid we had a few Kentaurs too many at one of your bars around here." Gien looked vaguely at his sister as he told this lie. Thank God, he was good at it. Lu was still mad at him, but she'd have to accept his answers. And now that it was all over; he could enjoy this leave and be his little sister's hero for a few days. The papers Tesat had suggested he destroy were still with him; he would get around to following her advice in the morning.

The two of them were in Luine's quad, relaxing after supper. Carinne had gone out. Neill was at the library. Saavik was in her room studying. All was routine. Gien was about to suggest a run to Zephyr's when there was a low humming noise from Luine's terminal.

She excused herself and went to switch on the screen for the incoming call. She didn't know the girl whose angry face filled the vid screen, but the urgency and fury in her expression and her voice could not be mistaken. "I want to speak to Gien Kai-Mekelen, RIGHT NOW!" She enunciated the syllables of his name carefully as if reading it off a card. "Or whatever name he'd hiding behind. The idiot off that freighter."

Gien went white. He pushed into Luine's bedroom. "Lu, get out, I'll handle this. Please." She didn't move. He gave up, cursing furiously, and switched on the responder. "Gien Kai-Mekelen here. What's the matter?"

Tesat's face had a dark green flush evident even on the cheap vid screen. She appeared to be barely under control. "Listen, loser, I don't want any more of this crap. If you want to go through with your ridiculous plan so bad, pick another 'enemy of the Federation'. You don't have what it takes to buy me."

"What are you talking about?" Beside him, his sister stood with her mouth open, transfixed by the other girl's violence.

"I just want to tell you not to get near me, not you, not your friend Avennen!"

"Avennen? Did he call you again?" The light was beginning to dawn in Gien's mind.

The Romulan's tone grew sarcastic. "Oh, you didn't know? The hell with it. I got home from the park and called that slimegrob to tell him his little plan backfired. He said it was really important that I should meet you because you really had important information. You were willing to pay more, he said. I cut him off. Which I'm going to do to you, NOW." Which she did, but not before adding a string of Romulan phrases which Gien assumed was cursing.

He let out his breath and covered his face. Luine was still there, wide-eyed. "Gien, what – what did you _do_ today?" she asked finally. "You didn't go drinking with your crew mates. You went to make some kind of deal with that... Romulan?"

"Oh, no, baby, not that." And he went back into the common room and sat. He reassured her that there had been a misunderstanding, and Luine accepted his explanation against her better judgment... but not entirely. She wanted to ask him about all the money he had. Then she told herself that Gien knew best, that he was able to take care of himself. They would go to Zephyr's now and have a good time.

Gien allowed Luine to restore his mood with her overly cheerful plans for the evening. God damn. Now he'd have to deal with Avennen himself, one last time.

--

Saavik had very good ears, and the voice from the terminal in Luine's room had been quite loud. She could have recognized that accent anywhere, and thus guessed who was calling. She understood the words perfectly – she realized that Tesat must have traced Gien to his sister's room – and she was sure it was no Romulan joke, that there _was_ a plot of some kind that the girl had become enraged over. Surely, however, this was some unfortunate misunderstanding, as the frightened Gien had tried to tell Luine afterward. Certainly, none of this had been meant for her ears. She remained very quiet while Gien and Luine were in the quad, working at her terminal with intense concentration. After she was alone again, she meditated for a while, then continued with her poetry until 2000 hours, finally reviewing the next day's physics just before retiring. At least _that_ made sense to her.

--

After the furious call from Tesat, he had to calm himself. He would figure out a way to get his money from that idiot, even if the deal was off. He'd _thought_ the Romulan was all figured out... she didn't have much reason to love the Federation, did she? If she was here, so far out of Romulan space, her family must have _some_ influence. Well, so he'd figured her wrong, that was all. But he knew some of the stories of Tesat's acts of vengeance from some students who had no love for her. So he knew he'd have to act fast on several fronts. He was pretty sure who else didn't care for Tesat the Romulan, and he made the effort of getting to her office as fast as he could after Tesat's call.

She had listened to him with hooded eyes, showing no emotion as he outlined the plot he had "discovered"... the off-planet freighter crewman and the Romulan student... how he had stumbled on their meeting. She had thanked him.

He left the building with his initial panic in good retreat. That damned self-righteous Romulan witch! He doubted whether Tesat remembered him at all, in that more devastating context... the late-evening approach after he'd seen her coming out of Zephyr's alone, almost three years before... everyone knew Romulans had the sexual drives of a ferret... and the girl had pounded him into the ground! A bit of luck that she hadn't seen his face clearly... that fact would protect him now. No amount of training in self-control on her part would save his life if she knew the man dealing in secrets was the same one... He was also relieved that Akadem was large enough a place that no one would clearly remember him as a student. And he had been careful about identifying himself, and about the preparations he had made. Now there was only one more thing to do, and he prided himself on always finishing his jobs.


	18. Chapter 18: There is Going to Be Some Tr

_As you may expect, whatever Paramount owns regarding these characters, good for them! I'm not making any money off all this._

Chapter 18: "There is Going to Be Some Trouble"

It was Samdas's birthday and her roommate Talya had practically thrown Karilas House open for the surprise party. It was even more of a surprise because Andorians did not celebrate birthdays that way, and generally shunned large, convivial gatherings. But their quadmates, and the many friends Samdas and her brother had made in two years on Akadem, had put together a celebration where even the diffident young Andorian could not help but enjoy herself. Indeed, Samdas and Shavrai were thought to be the most gregarious of their species that anyone could remember meeting.

Carinne came with Miller DeMott to find the party well under way and the guests in a considerably loosened state. Talya and some of the others had brought in platters of Andorian pastries and other favorite snacks (provided, for a small fee, by the people at Zephyr's), and there was Kentaur and Greenblatt beer (the latter really was green). When Carinne arrived, the party had spread way beyond the quads on either side of Samdas's. She spent at least ten minutes just getting through the crowd, greeting her friends, before she got to speak with Samdas.

"Happy birthday, sweets! Hey, nice gown!" The birthday girl was dressed in a silvery floor-length garment that looked as if designed for a splendid barbarian pageant. The Andorian smiled her thanks and unwrapped Carinne's gift, a black velvet band with silver and blue embroidery. Samdas tied it around her forehead and under the antennae at the back of her head. It contrasted beautifully with her white thatch of hair.

"As if you knew what I was going to wear!"

"Shavrai told me you had a silver festival dress. He was really having fun helping Talya surprise you!"

"It is a custom we will have to take back home to Andor." Shavrai appeared at his sister's side. "Although probably without the beer and the holo-rock music." He sounded a little regretful about this.

Dozens of students lounged on furniture and the floors. Some danced, others milled about with food and drinks. Carinne and Miller found a small unoccupied spot near some students from one of Samdas's classes, students whom Carinne hadn't seen in a Quarter or more. There were several other Andorians – Ganav duman Oti, and Sapi Tul, and the half-human Rakman Nu. There was Hakat's daughter Maruk (Carinne's quadmate during her first Quarter on Akadem), and the Zoromirs, all playing cards. Nadine Zoromir interrupted her argument with Rakman over the value of the last hand he'd lost. "Carinne! What in Zetar are you doing these days? I thought you'd gone off to space already!"

"No, after next Quarter. Yeah, I'm excited! Hey, do you all know Miller?"

"Sure." It was Nadine's clutch-brother Charley who spoke. "The guy who kept me from flunking Economic Systems of Non-Fed Worlds in Alpha Quarter! Hi. Want to play the next hand?"

They played Galada for a while, a game Charley claimed was a Kantan form of canasta. He and his two clutch-sisters had an unfair advantage in having control of the rules, but their fellow-students were cheerful about their losses. It would have been hard to be too angry at the three Kantans, whose only reason for existence seemed to be to have fun. Charley, Nadine, and Geneva Zoromir had come to Akadem several Quarters ago, and were now a fixture of nearly every major party on the planet. They were the greatest supporters of dorm monkey business, and didn't let their erratic academic records deter them from enjoying life. They followed virtually the same curriculum and occupied the same quad. This had of course been permitted by Akadem authorities (despite the rule of same-sex quad only) since Kantan clutch offspring (usually three to five born together) were rarely separated before age eighteen; doing so might have resulted in grave psychological harm. All three were hoping to enter a not-too-rigorous business school after graduation and to run a Kantan restaurant on some far-away planet someday.

Carinne, Miller, and Ganav had the best luck against them in Galada. After a while, chubby Maruk dropped out to forage for more snacks. Carinne smiled as Rakman casually got up to assist her; _there _were two people who didn't make too big a secret about their relationship. In a way, they were lucky: there was no need to conceal their interspecies attraction, since Hakat was far and wide the most tolerant father known to anyone (according to Maruk herself), and Rakman himself was a hybrid and not likely to receive opposition to his choice of a "special friend" among the folks back home.

They had all gone from cards to Galactic Double Dare when, a little after midnight, Shavrai's quadmate Ken Deal spun Carinne away from a close encounter with Miller. "Sorry, man," he apologized to Miller, "gotta talk with your woman." He assumed a mock caveman stance.

She pretended to be furious. "_His_ woman! Do you want to shut off all my social opportunities?" They all laughed. Half her friends were absolutely convinced that she and Miller were lovers; the rest probably thought it was Ken.

Ken led her to one of the bedrooms. "Get on Samdas's terminal over there. One of your quadmates is calling – the Vulcan kid. It sounds like trouble."

If Saavik's expression or tone of voice were betraying "trouble", then trouble it was. "O.K., thanks." Carinne waited pointedly for Ken to go.

"If there's anything -?" He saw her nod impatiently and moved out of earshot.

Saavik's face was calm but there was a hesitation in her speech. "Carinne, Luine is distressed over something... her brother has disappeared, she thinks. I seem to be – inadequate – under the circumstances." She paused, not knowing how to ask for help.

Oh, good grief. That brother. "Can she talk to me?" Saavik's face vanished and a pale and obviously tearful Luine came on. "What's happened, Lu?"

"Oh, Carrie, I don't know! Gien and I went to Zephyr's earlier, had a nice time, a really great time, and we came back here. There was some kind of message for him on the terminal in Gobie's room, and he said he was just going downstairs for a moment. Only a moment, he'd be back in ten minutes. I went down... he wasn't there. It's been over two hours!"

Carinne thought quickly. Damn, and it was a good party. But Saavik didn't know how to handle an emotional crisis, and her own sense of responsibility was strong enough that she wouldn't disregard her young quadmate's distress. "I'll come back, honey. Don't go anywhere."

She quickly hunted up Ken and Miller, explained that she had to go, and added, "We could use someone along – we might have to go look for someone." They both volunteered immediately. Carinne made her apologies to Samdas and the rest. The Andorian nodded. "Zephyr's tomorrow night, Carinne?"

"Probably."

How long it would be before she would feel so lighthearted once more, she did not know as she left Karilas House with her two friends for the short walk back to Jenner.

--

After Carinne, Miller, and Ken, joined by several Jenner House students including Jaime and Gobesh and a senior Vulcan girl, T'Ani, had combed the area around the dormitories for an hour and a half, Ken suggested alerting Akadem Security.

"Look, Lu, even if your brother doesn't want the police, even if he's just holed up drunk somewhere, or if he went on an all-nighter with those crew people of his, they'd at least find him, right? He's a big boy, and if the greens take him in it would probably only be on a minor charge."

Luine had stayed put in her room, not crying but tight with worry, while the others searched. She finally agreed on their calling Security. "All right. I just want to know where he is."

Saavik had stayed in the quad with her. Fortunately, Luine was in control over herself. Still, the Vulcan felt quite out of place, since she did not know how to offer comforting words. Carinne had put her in charge of monitoring incoming calls; if any of the searchers found anything, they'd call from the nearest terminal. "Luine," she ventured, seeing that the other girl was staring down at her hands, "worrying about Gien will not expedite finding him."

"I _want_ to worry," Luine muttered sullenly, illogically. "It was only going to be a few minutes. I wish I knew who he was meeting! Oh, Saavik," and she seemed very much a little girl now, "he only got here a few days ago, but he was always gone, to some mysterious meetings with strange people...I thought it was all over... I didn't want to _not_ believe what he was telling me!"

"He will turn up, no doubt, just in time to go back aboard his ship. The prospect of being listed 'absent without leave' will be a strong inducement for him to reappear, whatever his present reasons for dropping out of sight." She was not trying to be cruel or cold, but Luine fell silent, convinced that the Vulcan girl thought her brother was no good. Too tired to argue, Luine sat, dejected, watching the blank terminal screen.

--

Morning brought the Security greens back to the dorm, and to a rather disturbing interview with Luine. They wanted to know everything, and Luine tried to remember all the furtive moves Gien had made since arriving on Akadem. As far as she knew, he'd gone to meet someone the morning before, and again just before disappearing – and there had been that call from Zephyr's, plus the weird call from that Romulan girl yesterday afternoon.. And she knew nothing about any of these people, nothing ; had only seen one, and that was the Romulan, on the screen only that one time.

The Security people, for all their amateur status on what was generally a peaceful planet, knew their territory well. Figuring out the identity of the female Romulan – no difficulty there.

--

Komack had finished her early class. A printed copy of her report in hand, she descended in person upon the Coordinator of Faculty-Student Affairs just after noon. Ms. Kyllie, physically a smaller woman, did not rise or otherwise react to the instructor's imposing appearance. Komack waded right into her topic:

"Kyllie, I'd like to dispense with the formality of an appointment, and I'm sure you will agree with me when you read this." She quietly laid the document on the desk; this calm, precise act was more impressive, for Sarader Komack, than if she had waved it in the air and slammed it down dramatically.

Gale Kyllie riffled through the pages and their paragraphs in blocky, neat printface. "I know you're going to tell me the meaning of this? Why don't you sit down, Sar? And for God's sake, relax..."

"I received word – from a good source – that Tesat the Romulan was going to be given a packet of classified materials from a courier, someone visiting here on some otherwise harmless pretext. Through a prudently and hastily placed surveillance of her terminal, I was able to trace a call to the room of a student here. And a further check shows this girl has reported someone missing – her brother, who just happens to be here on leave from a freighter! He has been on this planet a scant three days." Komack looked at the coordinator in incipient triumph. Kyllie was managing to rein in her anger.

"Cut the third-person doubletalk! _Who_ put surveillance on a student's personal lines? _Who_ is the source for a far-flung charge like this?"

"Don't you realize what we're talking about here? Kyllie, there's espionage going on, right under our noses, involving one or more of our students!And all along you've been so intent on not being realistic about the danger of admitting students with security-risk backgrounds! Don't try to protect Tesat, I warn you. I only came out here out of courtesy. I'm going to Security with this, _right now_." She left the printed report on Gale Kyllie's desk "Keep it! I have multiple copies!" Komack stalked out, shoulders squared, by God, and adrenalin pumping.'

Gale Kyllie did not know what Komack _thought_ she had; it was bad enough that she had to deal with this unpleasant woman at all. If there was some kind of security problem there would have to be a board investigation. There was neither court nor other judicial apparatus on Akadem except for those which took care of the ordinary disputes among students and faculty, and a few dealing with the minor infractions committed among usually cooperative people. So, if there was anything to Komack's ravings, her office would probably have to get involved, damn it. Kyllie hated the thought of dragging Tesat through what she was sure would be a wild-goose chase. So far, the child had been patient enough, in many ways an excellent student, except for some rather grim practical jokes. Kyllie was not alone in seeing Tesat as the vanguard of the newer generation – where Federation and Romulan and Klingon youth could know more about each other... if people of Tesat's caliber weren't thoroughly disgusted by then.

She didn't think that Sarader Komack would appreciate it, but she placed a call to Tesat's room and was relieved when the girl answered, looking distracted and sleepy.

"Tesat? I don't know exactly what to warn you about, ethically speaking – but I believe there is going to be some trouble involving you."

"Trouble? Please be more specific, Ms. Kyllie." The face composed itself and Tesat did not look even remotely like a dangerous hothead at the moment.

"If I tell you that Sarader Komack has something to do with it, you may get an idea. What I'd like, Tesat, is for you to stay in your quad until you hear back from me. I'm going to try to find out."

"I am – just a child, Ms. Kyllie, but I question how long I have to endure harassment from her! I had meant to spend more time in checking my impressions before saying anything to you, but I believe Dr. Komack has been monitoring my computer use. And for all I know, tapping my personal communications, too."

There was a silence. "I'm afraid you may be right. Tesat, I'm seriously asking you – stay there and wait for me to call you back!"

--

The Security woman listened to Komack's story and tapped her fingers absently on her desk. She had put on the recording monitor the minute Komack began telling her story, and had skimmed over the written report after hearing her out. "This is _very _interesting, Professor," she said in a very quiet tone, "because not five minutes before you walked in this door, we found that young man's body. In a refuse container near the Social Science complex shuttleport. His throat was cut, cleanly, by someone who knew what they were doing. And not a dozen meters away our men found a Romulan ceremonial knife."


	19. Chapter 19: Tesat Explains

_What? Again?_

Chapter 19: Tesat Explains

The afternoon Tesat was questioned by Akadem Security in the dual matter of the murder of Gien Kai-Mekelen and activities to the detriment of the United Federation of Planets, Saavik went through the most intensely helpless period of her life since her rescue from Hellguard. She had been with Luine when the green-clad officer, hardly older than a Senior, came to their quad with the news. Fortunately, Carinne had been there, too (no sign of Neill, who gone off to class that morning with no more comment than, "Hope he turns up."). Holly Pitone had been there also, knowing her friend was in need.

"I don't care if I do have a history test today," she had declared staunchly. "They can stuff it. I'm hanging with you."

But when the Security man gave the news it was Saavik to whom Luine looked first. The shock-wide eyes were something the Vulcan would never forget; then, Luine turned away from all of them and flung herself onto her bed. Carinne murmured words of encouragement and consolation, while Holly got down on her knees beside Luine's bed and cried with her. At a time like this, Carinne realized how much they were all still children.

Saavik remained on her chair, holding herself stiffly. Emotion washed the air around and she regretted – actually regretted – that she could not allow herself the social relief of anger or tears. For Gien she certainly felt next to nothing, but Luine was another matter.

Two adults – another Security man and Luine's preceptor, Professor Martin Short – arrived soon after, and a kind of polite battle ensued between them. Short wanted Luine to lie down and rest, preferably under some kind of sedation, while Officer Danson wanted to question her alone, "in light of new developments." The professor yielded but insisted that he stay with his student while the examination took place. Danson asked Luine to recall everything the Romulan had said in her hot tirade over the vid link; unfortunately, the girl only remembered, "She was really mad, she mentioned someone else's name... but I can't remember it." The officer went over this several times, until Short had had enough and literally pushed him out the door.

"Talk to the girl later," he snarled. "Let her rest. My God, she's a child who's just lost her brother!" He went out with Danson into the corridor. When he returned several minutes later, his face was grave.

"Child, come here." He and Luine sat on the sofa. Saavik, Carinne, and Holly remained discreetly in the other bedroom, where they'd been all during the Security man's interrogation. "He just told me that a student has been taken in for questioning – the Romulan girl, Tesat. Apparently a Romulan knife was used to kill Gien," Luine started to weep again, as if hearing it said once again - "kill" - made it more real. Martin Short continued, "and it would be very helpful if you _could _remember that name, and what she and Gien said to each other, and if you could tell them anything about any other people Gien spoke to while he was here."

His baggage had already been impounded by Security, of course; the packet of documents had been found, but only a small sum of credit money. Gien's shipmates had been located at their maintenance assignments but none had seen him since they made planetfall. Danson had also told Short that the Romulan suspect was being investigated on some espionage matter, and that the two cases were linked. Dr. Short did not explain all this to Luine in detail, but he did want her to know that Security was pursuing all leads. "And we're sending a message to your parents. Do you want to add anything to it?"

Luine gulped and shook her head. "But my parents are on two different assignments."

"That will be taken care of. Your brother's captain has been notified also." Then the professor offered to take Luine to his own home to stay with him and his family. He liked the merry little pixie and dreaded the thought of this twelve-year-old being subjected to the inevitable repeat Security visits. Danson had already told him that Luine herself was not under any suspicion in the espionage matter, but that there were still questions and a hearing coming up.

Luine agreed to go to the Shorts'. Her quad mates helped her pack for a few days' stay. Saavik was the last to speak to her on her way out the door. "I am very sorry, Luine," she said, unable to put the emphasis in the right places, as she had no real idea what being "sorry" meant to a human in time of bereavement. Her own ideas of what constituted grief were untested by fact. On Hellguard there might well have been grief – but for children of her strain, the grief was all day, every day. She watched Luine walk away beside her kind professor, head down, and murmured again, to herself, "I'm sorry..."

--

By evening the story was out on the grapevine, and students were comparing rumors and versions gleaned from "friends in Security" or loose-lipped junior professors, or mysteriously well-informed fellow students. Tesat was defended; Tesat was reviled. The Federation "secrets" peddled were vital to a new generation of phaser weapons; the "secrets" were worthless secondary restatements of dozen-year-old technology. It was a coup for Dr. Komack; it was a frame job by a bitter old bitch. At the Leopard's Cub, a live-music joint, some who knew Tesat speculated loudly.

"Damn it, you _never_ know what's she actually thinking!" This from Abe Davits, his arm around the pulchritudinous Lupe Esquinez. "I mean, I could see her getting pissed off enough at the Federation to consider passing on some kind of damaging information."

"Yeah, but if she's mad at the UFP there's more than one reason for it," Nureg Dabourian said slowly, "and the question is, couldn't anyone with enough computer experience to write in EARTHBASE pull up the same data? What's the point of all those dramatic maneuvers if it's something anyone could find?"

"Don't know. We don't really know what's she's supposed to have done. About that dead guy – the courier – did anyone hear how - "

Ken Deal drew his forefinger across his throat from ear to ear. Dabourian shuddered.

They ate their pitas and sandwiches from a huge platter ordered for their table. "I hear," Maruk mumbled through a mouthful of something, "I hear that Tesat has a grievance with old Komack, and that this all had something to do with it, too." In fact, her father had said as much, earlier at supper, and quite a bit more, too, but Maruk felt it might not be diplomatic to tell all she heard at home.

"Komack!" Dabourian said the name distastefully. "That woman has a poker up her... well, anyway, the talk is that the knife the poor guy was killed with was Romulan."

"That's right, my friend in Security said so, all right."

"Ken," reproved Maruk, "we'd better cool off. There hasn't been any kind of hearing yet. I've never seen Tesat carry a knife. In fact, I work with her and I think that for a Romulan, she's got fantastic self-control. You know, I'd pretty much rule out her having a knife at all."

Nureg Dabourian smiled to herself. She never moved from her quad without the small jeweled _kris_ next to her left thigh in a scabbard so streamlined that only long habit of wearing it enabled her to find its hilt quickly under the folds of her robes. What did any of them know about anybody? But all she said was, "I don't know... being nonbelligerent and bearing arms aren't mutually exclusive." A smart woman did not have to let people know she was armed.

--

At that moment Tesat was in a kind of lounge in Security quarters at the Science I complex. There was no other place to keep her, Akadem having no jail. She had refused counsel but now both Gale Kyllie and Caryamandis were arguing with her.

"It's absurd, Tesat," the physical education instructor fumed. "You're not a minor any more, but I'm certain Gale will agree that you need legal counsel whether you want to or not." Caryamandis paced the room as if needing a physical outlet.

Tesat followed her tiger-like strides approvingly. She moves like a warrior-conditioned Romulan, she thought. She herself was exhausted and did not feel like pacing. Everything had developed so quickly. She had meant to follow Kyllie's advice and wait patiently in the quad, and had worked hard to keep herself from a growing rage. While waiting, she had accomplished an important task: she had dictated her statement about Sarader Komack's monitoring of her file-access code, her own suspicions about other surveillance, and her account of what had happened the day before, from Avennen's first vid contact in the morning, to her indignant call to Luine's quad late in the afternoon. She suspected that the "trouble" about which Kyllie had warned her, involved that bizarre series of encounters.

But having done all these sane and reasonable things, Tesat was too angry to go quietly when Security came for her, accusing her of incredible crimes. She had argued and refused to go, wanting to wait for Gale Kyllie's callback. Regrettably, she _had_ used minor force against one of the greens. That had earned her a prominent greenish-blue bruise on one shoulder, and another on her lower jaw, and a set of sore muscles. The Security man's partner had been very zealous in intervening.

Kyllie couldn't really blame Tesat for her anger. But she, too, insisted on counsel. "I'm going to see who's available on the faculty."

"With legal training? How about military legal training, since there's espionage involved?" Caryamandis said sarcastically. Tesat knew that humans appreciated verbal humor, unlike most Romulans. "The _best_ one I know is, unfortunately, already engaged on the other side...Dr. Komack."

Kyllie laughed in spite of the gravity of the situation. "I was thinking of T'aia Gur, or Howard Brady. This thing could be very serious; under no circumstances should you have to face these charges alone." The very thought made her sweat.

The Romulan girl seemed on another mental track. "I was very angry at that man, but why would I kill him? I knew that I wouldn't hear any more from him. I turned away his offer... I insulted his lineage.. but I did not actually hold him responsible. You've listened to my tape, and you know what kind of a guy Avennen is."

"There are two problems, Tesat: no one knows _who_ he is... and, there's the knife."

"You know that it's not mine."

"You have said that," Kyllie said carefully. That was the big problem. Whether or not Sarader Komack's head was full of tribbles about the "plots" Tesat was supposedly involved in, there was that matter of the knife. A Romulan short dagger, worn by combat officers and not infrequently used by them to settle personal differences, though it was referred to as "ceremonial." It was sharp and quite unique in the kind of wound it made. Tesat was the only Romulan on Akadem. Bad situation. "I for one believe you."

"And I." Caryamandis finally stopped pacing. "Still, it would help if you had some corroboration." She thought about something she should have remembered earlier. "Tesat! If Komack was bugging your communications, she should have records of them – you talking with Avennen, and with Gien, all of it! Your counsel can demand the tapes."

Tesat shook her head wearily. "_Sensei,_ a fine idea. But I'm afraid I have been a little too clever for my own good. I knew that the old bi- ..I knew that Dr, Komack was on my case," and here the humans smiled at Tesat's excellent command of her roommate's slangy Standard, "and I managed to put a privacy jam on at my end – like a little Romulan cloaking device, if you like. It is supposed to block out any voice or key input but is not quite sophisticated enough to block the identity of sending or receiving stations. You see, I came to computers rather later than most people here. I'm actually pretty mediocre in my skills when it comes to manipulating systems. So.. they know whom I talked with... but it's only my word as to what we talked about." She shrugged, noting the disappointment in their faces.

Kyllie marveled at the girl's matter-of-fact tone. Then the bruises on Tesat's face reminded her that violence was still a strong factor in her makeup. And, unfortunately, there was no good answer to the obvious link between the knife, the girl's temper, and the fact that Tesat was strong enough despite her youth to have overpowered a grown man. There was nothing she or her colleague could do now except contact an advocate who was not biased about Romulans, and see Tesat again in the morning.

They took their leave, assured by the Security officers that the prisoner's arrangements would be appropriate for a young woman, not a hardened criminal, and that a doctor would look in on her. Tesat was calm and almost emotionally withdrawn, but reacted with surprising warmth when Caryamandis unexpectedly embraced her before leaving. Even her mother never did that. She knew it was the way of many species and understood its significance of friendship and affection. "Thank you, _Sensei_." she said, touching the instructor's sleeve lightly. "I will be patient. I will be good."


	20. Chapter 20: Our Own People

_Yadda, yadda. There isn't actually anyone in this chapter who belongs to Paramount but I promise not to benefit financially from it anyway._

Chapter 20: Our Own People

Like everyone else who knew Tesat even slightly, Tor Srimandan was in the mood for a little gossip when he got out of class that afternoon. He emerged onto the mover outside the medical building and spotted T'Lemmi several hundred meters ahead of him. Not wanting to look as if he were chasing her, he jogged on the grass next to the moving walk, then rode awhile, and quite "by accident" came up by her side.

"Tor, I hope you are well," she greeted him, quite aware of his maneuvers to catch up with her. He held out his hand to take her portable and a stack of folders from her. During the past Quarter Tor had finally been able to convince her that humans often carried things for their special friends... without telling her, of course, what that implied when a boy carried things for a girl, at least in his culture. But T'Lemmi made no move to let him carry anything today.

"I am quite capable -"

"I know! I know! Listen, I'm starving. Do you want to come and watch me eat one of my illogical snacks? C'mon, I need intelligent life to talk to. Rupel was subbing for Sunek today. He's brutal. 'Anatomy of Vulcanoid Species' taught by a Tellarite who spits every time he speaks. Eccch." T'Lemmi was not even giving him the pitying looks that usually greeted his humor. "So... I thought I'd talk to _my_ favorite Vulcanoid. How about it?"

She nodded and they rode on. "T'Lemmi, I have an idea. Let's go to my quad. I still have that chess-variations program you lent me, and the stuff on Surak. And I want to know if you know anything about this business with Tesat." He was burning with curiosity on the subject.

"She was taken into custody. That is all I know." The Vulcan girl appeared uninterested. "I really cannot speculate. You of course will do so whether or not you have any facts."

Wow, that stung! "That's what I expect from my logical friend." She had not answered his invitation, but as he stepped off the mover near Newton House, she followed, although her own residence was in Cochrane House, further to the east. They climbed the stairs to his floor and walked silently to his quad.

Inside, T'Lemmi sat stiffly on the most uncomfortable chair in the common room. She watched as Tor called up a plateful of crackers and cold cuts and a fizzy drink from the synthesizer. "Sure you don't want anything?"

T'Lemmi was not hungry, but waited patiently while her friend assembled his snack. He sat on the sofa, a correct distance from her.

"What's wrong, T'Lemmi? You've been more than usually Vulcan this past week."

"What else should I be?"

Uh-oh, thought Tor. He observed that her face was as impassive as ever, but that her shoulders were more rigid, and her eyes... her eyes alone allowed him to think that she might share some thoughts with him. She isn't usually this touchy, he told himself. Something is up.

Tor shook his head. "Sorry. If there is something you can permit this human friend to share, then I am here. If it is something that is not to be talked about, I understand." T'Lemmi looked almost relieved. For a space of time she seemed lost in meditation while Tor ate and tried to conceal his own apprehensiveness.

When the girl spoke, it was as if talking to herself. "My father has communicated with Stiel about his transfer to the Vulcan Academy of Sciences. He wished to know when I, also, would make my application. Apparently Stiel has told him that I have expressed a wish to wait an additional year before deciding where I wish to train after Akadem. Father has long planned for Stiel and me to study together at the Academy." For her to tell him what he already knew from previous conversations gave Tor the impression that T'Lemmi was distracted... dare he say betraying inner turmoil?

"My father Shakat also informed Stiel that after next Delta Quarter Skal will come to Akadem." She looked Tor straight in the eyes. "Skal is the one to whom I am bonded. Father thinks that to place us in closer proximity will greatly enhance our eventual marriage."

"Oh. I see." In fact, Tor was making a supreme, white-knuckled effort not to let her see any of his consternation or anger. At her – for never mentioning a bondmate. At her father – for not having the decency of communicating with her directly, but channeling the news through her brother. He suddenly felt lost. He had known T'Lemmi for years, but now realized how little he knew her.

"Are you surprised that I am bonded?" She asked this as if the thought had just occurred to her. "Surely you would have assumed it." But, from the expression on his face, it was evident that he had not. "Skal will attend here for a few years. Then he will also study on Vulcan afterwards.":

_Bully for him_. Tor was still staring at T'Lemmi, making her uncomfortable with the intensity of his smoldering, unstated anger. "But your plans? You'd mentioned going on a Federation ship...? Or a hospital planet?" Some of his emotion was emerging now. "Does your father make the final decisions for you and Stiel? Or only for you?"

"Tor – please. Your emotions are painful to me. Please." She waited as he fought to calm himself. "Shakat's decisions are not binding on either one of us, as you ought to know. It is, however, logical that since we will have been trained in a number of scientific fields by him and by the instructors here, we should continue our work at the greatest scientific institution of our own people."

The boy heard that phrase, "our own people", and T'Lemmi's emphasis on it. "I thought logic meant that you pursued what you were best at. I don't know what Stiel wants. But _you_ have told me your dreams plenty of times. You're going to be a great medical researcher, T'Lemmi. You know how to live out here in the galaxy among others who are _not_ Vulcans. And you and your brother don't have to spend your lives going to the same schools." He was quickly getting to the point where he was going to say things that would distress her even more.

"No, we do not. But this is not what is troubling you! You really are upset that my mate-to-be will come here. Why, Tor?"

He got up, hesitated between distance and intimacy, and chose the latter, pulling an armchair closer to her and perching uncomfortably on its arm. "It merely adds another value to the equation, that's all."

"The equation." Her eyebrows rose as she thought back through the years of childhood friendship with this human. Being with humans so much had taught her some of their ways of thinking, although she was proud of the fact that if any traits had rubbed off, it was more from her than towards her... How inexcusable of her – she had not seen the signs in Tor, because she was thinking of him in terms of young male Vulcans of his age. "Equations... as in, one plus one equals two? And you, with all your knowledge of our ways, did not consider that my life was no different from that of other Vulcan females, bonded in early childhood? Stiel also is bonded, and he and T'Eisa will be married when he transfers to the Academy. There is nothing particularly strange about all this, Tor."

"But I had thought... I had hoped... oh, illogically, of course... that you might be... different." Tor was having a very hard time. "I had thought that when you accepted all my human illogic and emotions, your life was... well, uncomplicated in that way."

"What _did_ you expect? My bonding with Skal is one thing, my friendship for you is another. If I accepted your right to be every centimeter a human, why are you surprised that I am just as much a Vulcan?" Her voice held a touch of asperity.

Tor responded bitterly. "I'm a hypocrite. Say it. I'm sorry if my illogical feelings shock you. Just don't expect me to want to meet this Skal of yours." _God, you're being an ass,_ he told himself. _You can kiss this friendship goodbye if you keep this up._

T'Lemmi softened her expression a little. "I do not wish to hurt you."

Tor nodded, grateful for this at least. "Don't take my head off, T'Lemmi, but did Stiel have something to do with moving this along? I mean, with your father's plans, and sending Skal here?"

"Your human intuition! I do not think it accurate to say that my father is _sending_ Skal. Skal is not my father's ward. And Stiel is a very correct person. He is your friend, too... and it is possible that he saw in our friendship a danger of misinterpretation, and acted to prevent this."

"I see." And, suddenly, horribly, Tor Srimandan found himself in tears, turning away from the girl, bolting from the chair into his bedroom with a choked, "Excuse me..."

T'Lemmi listened to the muted sounds from behind the rapidly closing door. Long contact with humans had taught her that in similar situations a girl would go and put her arms around a boy... would use some nondescript, soothing words. She realized suddenly that she had been just as much at fault as Tor for his misunderstanding – perhaps more so. Yet, he should have _known_... but _she_ should have anticipated that he would not look at all this clearly and logically

A friendship she valued very much was in jeopardy. Had she been on Vulcan, or if Stiel were here, she would surely have remained exactly where she was, shutting out Tor's distress. But she was not on Vulcan, and Stiel was not here. T'Lemmi slowly rose and went into Tor's room.

Tor felt her calming hands come to rest on his shoulders as he sat hunched over on his bed; the hands were small but strong.. As they moved up to cup his face on either side, he realized that the two of them had never touched except by accident. He knew what an effort of intimacy T'Lemmi was making; though he wanted to tell her how much this meant to him, all he could do was weep.

T'Lemmi was certain that he would try to embrace her, and steeled herself for the resulting chaos of emotion – but he did not. Her touch was indeed calming him, and he was able to achieve some control. Finally, he managed, "I really thought...I'd wait till... you were adult... and..."

"- and you know how many more years that will be, until I am considered mature on Vulcan?"

"It wouldn't have mattered how long." He gulped and wiped his eyes, still sobbing a little. T'Lemmi released her hands and allowed him to finish composing himself. It took quite a while, so long that she wondered if his quadmates might be back soon, and what they would think of this scene.

"I guess I was trying to be more Vulcan for you. Maybe it would've been better if I'd been raised on good old Earth and stayed with humans all my life, you know, develop the proper mind-set. Then I'd only have been attracted to human girls. People like Neill Gallaghan. _My own people_."

Faced by his bitterness, she was actually experiencing misery – not her own, but the emotion suffusing the very air of the room. "Do not be cynical, Tor! I do not know if you will believe me, but – I think that you would be a very suitable mate for a Vulcan woman, one who was not already bonded. You would definitely be a _bad_ companion for the type of Earth female who wishes to be spoiled and illogically catered to."

"I – I would have spoiled and illogically catered to _you_." He wore a tiny smile now, and T'Lemmi resisted the urge to step closer to him, to touch him once again. He sensed the undercurrent of her feelings. "Friends?"

"Friends." He rose from the bed, indicated that they should go back into the common room. She said softly, "I think that I would like to go – somewhere away from this quad – and sit and have a snack with you." When his grin illuminated the room, T'Lemmi realized that a human's changeable, mobile, emotion-driven face must be one of the wonders of the galaxy.


	21. Chapter 21: Preparatory

Chapter 21: Preparatory

In the interests of "moving right along", the Akadem Committee, the highest authority on the planet, agreed the next morning to call a Faculty-Student Inquiry Board and constitute it as a legal body to hear evidence relevant to the charges against the student, Tesat sa'Gesthi. Gale Kyllie, who was a member of the Committee as a liaison from the Faculty-Student Relations group, urged that the two charges should be considered separately.

"Are you her counsel, Ms. Kyllie?" the ancient academic Dean Mustafa Hamari inquired. "No? Well, let's first get the girl some representation and we will all see to it that her rights are rigorously protected. The charges will indeed be tried separately, but by the same inquiring body."

"I also want to know what kind of evidence will be heard," Kyllie persisted. She usually got along well with Hamari and the six other permanent Committee members, but she was anxious to find out as much as possible to help the Romulan student. Since a very powerful faculty member like Sarader Komack was involved, she was convinced that strong measures would be needed to keep the field even for Tesat.

"The student's own statements; evidentiary statements from all possible witnesses or informed parties; anyone who could offer independent corroboration…"

"Character witnesses, too?"

"Of course. Gale," Hamari said more informally, "are you worried that someone's going to give your girl an unfair deal?"

Kyllie was grim. "Mustafa, she's not _my girl_, she's a person with the same rights as any other. And yes, I'm concerned. Is the Committee's appointed Board going to be able to operate independently of the prosecution?"

"Now wait. If you think there's going to be any conflict of interest, you're dead wrong." Maria Doi, the head of the Business/Economics faculty, leaned forward angrily. "As far as a place like this can really conduct a trial – yes, there will be a prosecutor, but the Inquiry Board will not appoint one. We will. The Board will be selected at random from all Akadem full faculty and from the Junior and Senior Upper Division students who serve on student Triads. You know the procedure as well as I do."

"Apologies, Maria." Kyllie was tired… Thank God, Howard Brady had already agreed to defend Tesat, but it had taken a late-night visit to his apartment and several Rigellian brandy doubles to do the job. "And _have_ you decided on a prosecutor?"

"Not yet," Hamari assured her. "Inform us as soon as possible who the student's counsel will be, and we will contact him or her when we appoint the prosecutor."

Gale was leaving the Committee's offices when Doi caught up with her. "Gale – I'd rather you did not spread this around – but, for your information, we had application for the prosecutor job this morning … Sarader Komack." At Kyllie's appalled reaction, she reassured her. "We turned her down, of course. There has to be something terribly wrong, in my eyes, with someone who would _want_ the job."

You don't know how wrong, Kyllie thought to herself. It seemed to make sense. Komack was really starting to look like a loony - worse, a dangerous loony. She thanked Dr. Doi and hurried away. There was unfinished business at her office, untouched since yesterday – and then she and Howard would go see Tesat together.

--

Saavik's physics class was a welcome relief from the feelings in the quad. Carinne had talked with Luine at the Shorts' apartment, and then had shared a silent, disheartened breakfast with Saavik before they both left for class. The older girl had no reassuring words to say about it all, but had asked her once whether she had ever met Tesat. "Remember, you were at Zephyr's with the crowd last Quarter, when they were talking about her? I wondered then if you'd ever run into her yourself. She's an interesting person."

Trust Carinne to think of "interesting" as an adjective to describe a Romulan. She considered her reply carefully. "I have talked with her. I have met her once, briefly."

Carinne gave her an odd look. "Sounds as if that didn't go so well. But she actually does have friends among some of the Vulcan students, mostly Upper Division people who've known her for years. She tries hard to overcome some of the labels that Romulans have got stuck with. Like, I've read some of her poetry; it's weird but kind of creeps up on you in a funny kind of way."

Poetry? Saavik tried seriously to imagine Baccara the drunken trader, or Srin Lalat the whoremaster, or even the renegade "colonel" Shequs (from a top Romulan family, no less) – or any of the Romulans she'd known…she tried to imagine them lounging under fruit trees in scented gardens, composing love ballads in Orion tetrameter… this was nonsense. "Having a gift for poetry does not exonerate a person from suspicion for crime," she said sententiously.

"No, of course not."

She applied herself to her work, confident in her subject and in her ability to handle the increasingly difficult problems Dr. Joseph Macmillan was posing for her these days. She had heard Dr. Drusilla Macmillan telling her husband, "Let her have her head, Jojo," and while she wondered how an intelligent and mature scientist could allow himself to be called by such a ridiculous nickname, she felt greatly encouraged by this praise. She would have another excellent report in physics at the end of this Quarter, she was sure. Every success she had would bring that much closer to the time when she could begin to set her feet on the road to Star Fleet.

--

That future was frequently on her mind if only as a measuring-rod, something used to orient herself. Assuming that the entire galaxy was _not_ like Hellguard, it was still essentially a large, empty, very lonely place. Saavik could expect no "free ride" once she was embarked on her career. There would be the satisfaction of duty done. And anything else would have to come from herself. She was discovering personal resources for this future here, and constantly revising her assumptions… learning about how life _could_ be, under the best circumstances. For instance, she had found an affinity between herself and small animals, spending more than a few hours a week at the tiny zoo near the Science I complex. And there were the stars; she passed some restless night hours on the Jenner House roof, remembering the fascination they had exercised upon her even back in her days of bondage and ignorance.

Lately, too, there had come the joy of music. It had taken more courage than she thought she had, to approach the silent and forbidding Healer Sunek after her latest Triad meeting, to request small-group instruction on the Vulcan lyrette. She regretted that Spock had not had the time to teach her, but she would now be able to write him about her lessons and progress. She knew this would please him.

Despite his coldness towards her as an individual, Sunek had turned out to be an excellent and thorough music instructor. Saavik was much more skilled than the others in her group, and would soon start private lessons with the great man. She did not yet have her own instrument but used one that Sunek was willing to lend her.

This she now played in the respite between homework assignments, sitting cross-legged on her bed in the silent quad. Neill was in the other bedroom at the terminal, and apparently had no objections to Vulcan music.

Saavik wondered why Neill treated her better than she did either Carinne or Luine, or for that matter most of the people around her. Somehow, the older girl held her critical tongue in check when Saavik was around. Perhaps it was because Saavik ignored her as a rule, and did not have any particular habits or tics that annoyed Neill. Luine, of course, bore the brunt of Neill's sarcasm and unkindness, and Carinne kept up a cool, distant conflict of long standing. It was obvious to Saavik that the present tragedy in Luine's life had made her roommate uncomfortable but it had not made her compassionate. Saavik doubted that Neill had seen or talked with Luine since they had learned of Gien's death.

Saavik did not want to admit to herself that she was apprehensive about the upcoming hearing for Tesat. How ironic that when she had decided the best policy would be to avoid any contact with the Romulan, she would be obliged to become involved in her trial, if only to corroborate Luine's statements about her last day with Gien!


	22. Chapter 22: The First Charge

Chapter 22: The First Charge

In the several days during which the Inquiry Board was preparing for the hearing, it seemed as if the whole school planet were becoming a part of the process as well. Not only, were the students arguing their divisions, from the greenest Lowers to the Upper Division Seniors in their final Quarter, but the faculty were having sometimes acrimonious discussions on some of the unspoken issues. The fact that Dr. Komack was the first to reveal the existence of an espionage plot, and to link Tesat to it, generated a dispute among her colleagues about the propriety of her actions both recently and in the past. The openness of Akadem to all qualified students, a long-cherished assumption, hung in the balance, to some degree, awaiting the outcome of this matter. And the issue of student privacy would come up, because of the way some of the facts had been obtained. Although the evidence had not yet been received by the Board, the gist of it was all over the campus.

Howard Brady had handed over his lectures to Mir Khan Sopol, his most promising junior professor, having decided that a proper defense required full-time attention. At first, he had balked when contacted by Gale Kyllie: he had not practiced law in years; he did not know the student at all; he certainly had no experience in defending an espionage case… But Kyllie had persuaded him. In the end his objections did not matter: he was "hooked", and after his first conversation with Tesat he was firmly resolved to see that she got every chance for freedom.

Tesat had explained her contacts with Avennen and then with Gien Kai-Mekelen, repeating her allegations that Sarader Komack had acted from unfounded suspicions, that the "information" she thought she had was due to mere coincidence. Brady was intent on finding some corroborative witnesses for Tesat's statements of innocence in the espionage case. That matter of the knife – which the Romulan still insisted was not hers – bothered him, as well as the fact that she had no firm alibi for most of the time period during which the murder had to have been carried out.

"I was so angry at the man," she had admitted, "and if you believed what 'everyone knows' about us Romulans, you would draw a direct line from anger to murder. But that is just what I have trained myself to avoid. I went out, back to the park, and I ran for hours and hours. I did not eat the evening meal. I returned to my quad around 2000 hours, Rufia – my roommate – will confirm this. Later that evening I recorded my observations and suspicions about what had happened that day – and then I left the quad, still not purged of my anger. I ran down to the boat house, borrowed a small scull, and stayed on the lake until sunrise."

"You rowed out on the basin all night? Did _anyone_ see you?"

"I doubt it. I would have been stopped by the guard."

Brady decided to find out whether any of the Akadem employees could confirm any part of this story. As for the dagger, it had already been put through the best available spectroscopic and chemical analyses in the labs and had been found to bear no identifying prints, body substances, oils, or ridge marks, except for substances traceable to the victim. The murder had been very carefully done, by someone wearing gloves and other protective covering. No such gloves ot garments had been found among Tesat's belongings; however, the wet clothing discovered in her room had been taken for analysis. She claimed, when asked, that they had got wet during her night out rowing. "If I _had_ killed that man, and then washed the clothes, you'd find traces on them, wouldn't you?"

Despite some of the initial negative findings pointing towards Tesat's innocence, Brady knew that an expert and cold-blooded criminal could arrange to leave very few traces of him- or herself behind. Tesat was still the "best" suspect.

Now she seemed reasonably calm about the upcoming ordeal. She would repeat all these things before the Inquiry Board that would begin the next day. Howard Brady and her unofficial protectors, Caryamandis and Gale Kyllie, would attempt to round up the boathouse crew and anyone else who might swear to having seen Tesat, anywhere, the night Gien disappeared.

--

The Board in conducting the hearings knew that it acted with limited authority in criminal matters. It could only come to a judgment. Any sentencing and legal consequences would have to come from an outside body – a Federation sector court, most likely. Akadem was a bona fide Free Planet, administered by its Committee under authorization from the Federation High Council, with input from the Orion Sector Independents and the ombudsman group Government of Unaffiliated Worlds. Since Tesat's world was not part of any of these bodies, there was a potential legal complication. As a student on Akadem she was subject to Federation law, but if she were found guilty on either charge, the sector court would be required to account to the Romulan Empire's observer for her civil and legal rights. Still, Akadem would not have to file an Affidavit of Judicial Protection of Minors for Tesat, since she was over sixteen and thus a legal adult both for Federation and Romulan purposes.

Assembling the Inquiry Board was done in a speedy fashion; the charges were brought forward; the depositions were read. Statements had been taken from Luine, Tesat, Dr. Komack, and Rufia; also on record were two of Gien's shipmates, the boathouse guard, the Security officers who had found Gien's body and the weapon, those who had arrested Tesat, and the pathologist (biology professor, in ordinary life) Ashran Ramakrishna, who had determined the time of Gien's death.

Tesat herself was interrogated first, in a firm and polite manner, by the prosecutor, the Andorian literature professor, Dr. Konor Thrav. The Board listened and recorded, scribbled, interrupted, hemmed and hawed. The Romulan girl repeated (for what seemed the twentieth time) her comings and goings, her solitary boat ride, her frank suspicions about a set-up, and her denial that she ever carried a weapon. This was the preliminary interrogation, also observed by the scowling and silent Sitak Bar'ej, representative of Romulan interests in the sector.

Neither he nor Tesat herself seemed disturbed by the makeup of the Board, which had been chosen by lot: India Semmelweiss, the chairperson of athletics; T'Eilibit, the Vulcan language and logic instructor; Lu Ting-xo; junior history lecturer; Gray Timor, visiting musicologist; and three students – Tobit Nhu, Stebit the Vulcan, and Samdas's brother Shavrai. Among these, the only one she personally disliked was Nhu, an obnoxious xenobaiter. The faculty were all relative strangers to Tesat; Stebit and Shavrai she knew as classmates but were not close acquaintances.

Initially, one of the choices had fallen on Shulamith, a human student, but this girl had disqualified herself – before anyone had a chance to suggest that she should – because she worked as Komack's secretary. Tesat admired this act of fairness. She was sure that Shulamith would soon be looking for another job. Shavrai had been her replacement for the Board.

At the end of the first day, Brady and his client were both pleasantly surprised because there had been, after all, no new point raised by Thrav for the prosecution. That suggested to Brady that the testimony and independent evidence really had taken much of the strength out of the murder charge. The pathology report from the infirmary had set the time of Gien Kai-Mekelen's death at between midnight and 0200 hours, times for which Tesat had no witnesses for her claims to have been on the lake. However, the boathouse guard had testified to noticing that a one-seater had been left near but not on its proper rack, its keel wet, when he made his beginning-of-shift inspection that morning. And laboratory tests, as sophisticated as any a Federation lab could make, had failed to show any blood traces on Tesat's clothes, and no sign of anything that could link the murder weapon to her.

On the strength of this combination of testimony and evidence, Howard Brady and Konor Thrav sat down with the Board and decided to put the murder charge on hold. There was just too little to proceed on. Although this did not mean Tesat was absolutely cleared, it was a temporary relief for her.

For those who had expected a longer, more sensational trial, it was a bit of a letdown. But there was an espionage charge to settle. Howard Brady could not hope that this one would be set aside so effortlessly at the Board's next session. There were now bigger guns trained on Tesat.

--

Luine returned to her quad that night, going almost straight to bed. She had sat in the hearing and made it through her own statement, and listened to several other people's testimonies. It had all been a little too upsetting to her, and both sides had agreed that she need not testify again at the espionage trial, since her full statement was already on record. Dr. and Ms. Short would have gladly kept her with them a little longer, but she insisted on returning to her own quarters.

Neill wasn't there, but Carinne was. Before going to sleep, Luine called out timidly, "Carrie? Can you come in a moment?"

"Can I get you something?" Carinne smoothed the bed cover over the younger girl and squatted down by her bed.

"Tomorrow – when my parents get here – to take Gien's ashes… could you stay till they come? I know you have classes in the morning, but I don't want to be alone when they come. And I didn't want the Shorts to have to worry with me; I just want it to be as… normal as possible."

"No problem! If your folks haven't come by 1100 hours, I'll call in a personal exempt to the class. It's just another one of those Socio lectures; I could probably teach it myself. Get your sleep now." She hesitated. Carinne had thought of meeting some friends tonight. The past few days, she had been too preoccupied and had used that as an excuse for staying (and actually studying) in her own quad. But plans could be changed. Luine shouldn't be left alone here tonight, even if she was feeling all right. "I'll be in my room. Just call me if you need me."

The young girl lay in the darkness, only a faint golden light blurring through the hanging that blocked the entry to the common room. She had heard the detailed testimony of the finding of Gien's body, of the weapon that had killed him, and of the attempts made to trace its owner. Somehow she had told her story; but though she had tried and tried, through several retellings of the last vidphone conversation between Gien and Tesat, to recall the name Tesat had mentioned during that call, it had not come to her. She really did not know how it would matter… Gien would still be dead. At the moment, she hardly cared whether it was Tesat or someone else who was responsible. She just wished she knew _why_.

What had he been doing? She did not want to think that her brother had actually been a spy; neither did she want to believe he'd been stupid enough to be used by others in a spy scheme. He _had_ needed money…could he really have done something so drastic just to pay debts? Luine thought she knew her brother, but now, added to the misery of his death, there was the misery of realizing that she hadn't really been as close to Gien as she'd thought she was, didn't know him as she'd hoped …

Luine cried, not even trying to muffle the sound. (She'd have cried even if Neill had been there with her sarcastic expression; she didn't care.) She could hear Carinne in the other room, gliding a chair along the floor, getting up; then heard her voice quiet by her side. "Hush, just rest… Or do you want to talk?" Luine shook her head and Carinne squeezed her hand briefly.

She sat by her quadmate's bed in the dark until quite late, looking steadily into the night shadows cast by the small cold vigil-light in Lu's little shrine on the shelf. She was not yet diplomat enough to have all the right words for all situations.


	23. Chapter 23: Outtakes

Chapter 23: Outtakes

Saavik found a surprisingly good chess partner in little Bradley Franks next door. They were playing over a 3-D board at the Grub, and she was gaining respect for that child by the minute. Brad had come innocently up to her small table, which she had deliberately chosen to be far away from the other students…

She had wanted to avoid conversations about Tesat that would certainly start around her, because she was Luine's quadmate and was going to be summoned briefly to testify during the espionage hearings. However, no place except possibly the library, would guarantee her privacy, unless she barricaded herself in a meditation cubicle. And the quad was still too awash with emotional tensions. She must get away from this for at least a few hours. How humans existed with this constant turmoil she would never understand, and really did not want to.

She had gone to walk late in the afternoon, intending to study at the library, but realized that she was hungry. A true Vulcan could have disregarded this, she chastised herself, but not yet, not yet… At least the Grub was not too crowded yet, and if she looked sufficiently preoccupied, no one would approach her. Saavik took a cup of vegetable soup and a plate of bread and cheese to the farthest table, and ate for a while in grateful silence…

But little Brad had stood by her side patiently, and she had not dared speak rudely to him. When he offered a game of chess, she had heard herself accepting, wondering at his timing and motives. In one and a half Quarters of living next door to each other they had hardly exchanged more than a greeting.

Brad Franks had turned out to give her a considerable challenge. Saavik offered one of Spock's problems; Brad arrived at the correct strategy in one less move than she had. She was pleased that he was not one of those insatiable talkers, as Luine was when she played. Brad kept his own counsel, solemnly playing according to the rule book for most of the game. Then he would pop in a surprise move from his own creative mind.

They had played their third game to a draw, each having one win. Saavik asked him, "Have you ever competed with the students in Konor Thrav's group? There are some excellent strategists there."

The young human's eyes crinkled with an unexpected touch of merriment. "Konor Thrav? He plays private boards with me. We make up problems for that chess group to use."

Saavik stared. "Then you are obviously playing games with me. And I am not speaking of chess! You are 'humoring' me. That is not… honest."

"No, Saavik – gee – don't get mad! I'm good, but not _that_ good. I'm soaking wet when I finish a game with Master Konor. It's nice to play just a plain old game. No one wants their brain to get kicked around _all_ the time!"

The Vulcan was still skeptical. "Plain old game! I believe you are joking. But… I defeated you in the first game. You probably could have won easily."

"Don't be so sure. You're great, too, you know. Yeah, I guess you _do_ know."

"False modesty is not necessary. I would be most pleased to play again; and this time, please be quite direct with your advice."

During this next game, with the ice broken, Brad was more talkative and Saavik more interested in hearing him. She finally learned that, yes, he really was only nine years old. His parents had been terrified of sending him away so young, but they were people of ordinary intelligence and had long ago despaired of "doing anything" with him at home (Mars Colony Beta). In spite of herself, Saavik found the child fascinating. For a highly intelligent boy with such precocious talents he was incredibly carefree and modest. She did not talk about herself at all, but listened. _I am getting better at this,_ she thought. Humans did love to talk and did so at such small provocation.

It was already dark outside when they decided that seven games were enough. Saavik and Brad had each won two and had played to three draws. She was relaxed after this marathon, as if she had done her _ahn-woon_ casts or practiced t'ai chi for an hour.

There was a deep, clear sky as the two students crossed the Main. With full summer nearly upon them, many students were sitting or sprawled, by twos or bunches, on the dark turf. Soft conversations could be heard; giggles, snatches of a joke or an earnest political diatribe. Saavik heard Brad remark beside her, "That blue-white star over there? Earth looks like that from our colony. I've come all this way, all these light-years from Mars, but I've never even been 'next door', as we call it. Doesn't matter – I'll get there. But it always made me feel I was wasting my time, staying planetbound like I was. After you've seen everything in your colony fifty times and have been told that you have to wait to be all grown up, to see anything else, you decide to… speed things along."

"So you made yourself… a nuisance?" How he sounded like Luine, the first day they had met, with that impatient eagerness to be in space. She looked at the star Brad had pointed out, and recalled her dreams of the blue fire in the night sky of Hellguard. For a moment, she wished that she dared to tell Bradley Franks about the incentive and hope that star had given her; he would certainly understand.

Just before entering Jenner House, Saavik asked abruptly, "I am interested in knowing why you approached me to play this evening." She could see the toothy grin in the boy's shadowed face.

"You looked like you were avoiding all life forms, but at the same time you were looking around like you needed bothering. You didn't have anything to do, so…"

"You followed a hunch. Most illogical. In fact, I did not intend to have a conversation. An offer of chess proved too strong for me to resist, however."

Brad Franks grinned all the way up to his quad door. Saavik entered hers and found only one dimmed light, and both Carinne and Luine asleep. So she was back. The Vulcan worked in the common room on her portable, her brain still doing chess problems while her hands attempted to tap out poetry analysis. She knew she ought to dictate a tape to Spock, but events were in flux and her sense was to wait until she had a better understanding of them.

--

Her testimony before Tesat's Inquiry Board was the next day. The rumor had reached her this afternoon that the murder charge would be suspended, but also that Sarader Komack was quite openly and indiscreetly proclaiming that the Romulan's complicity in espionage was all but proved. Saavik did not know this Komack except for what was shared in the few uncomplimentary remarks overheard in recent conversations. She really did not know Tesat, either. Dr. Brady had obtained from Saavik the fact that she had heard the exchange between Tesat and Gien, and that she could testify to the name of the accomplice while Luine could not. Her only job would be to confirm this name, but something told her that she might become more involved.

She herself had heard Tesat's statement of innocence, but had no idea what other evidence the prosecution might possess, nor what the true character of the Romulan would turn out to be. Part of Saavik was frightened at the prospect of finding out.

--

A sympathetic Martin Short was at the shuttleport to escort Peter and Dalia Kai-Mekelen to their daughter's quad. He did not remain while parents and child performed the difficult and painful business of greeting and commiseration. Short would come by in half an hour to take them to the Faculty House; he himself had brought the dead man's ashes in their simple container from Security headquarters to that more pleasant and neutral location.

Luine walked between her father and mother, following Dr. Short's lead down the walk to Faculty House. No one was saying much; Luine had obviously been crying, as had her parents, but now they were composed. Raimundo Kai-Mekelen seemed determined that whatever they had to do they should do quickly. As veteran spacers, he and his wife would hold a space "burial" for their younger son; being an ethical agnostic, he himself did not see the need for any ceremony except the very personal one of saying farewell as the ashes were sent into the void. However, his parents, who had been close to all their grandchildren, followed their ancestors' Earth-Polynesian ways, which were equal parts monotheism and a kind of cheerful animism. The children had grown up with this, and for Luine's sake, and to rest the minds of Nonno Filippo and Wahine Nui, Peter and Dalia had agreed to a short ceremony for Gien.

They were shown into a meditation room. Luine and her parents recited an invocation together in front of a low table that held a holy flame and the urn, then each spoke a short prayer to the Great Names; then each said a personal sentence of farewell, to ensure that Gien's spirit would know of their presence as it journeyed on. Luine had not intended to do it, but at the end of the Addressing, she began to chant in a trembling voice, a song her grandmother had taught them, one that Gien liked particularly: a song of welcome to a returning warrior. And her father joined in, his voice surprisingly deep and firm for his small frame. Dalia Kai-Mekelen could not sing. Her second-born was gone. He would not return, not to G-77, nor to old Earth's blue Pacific swells and the lovely islands, nor to the space he had gone to find, and where he had died.

The family's strange and moving ritual was over. The professor, who had been asked to stay by Raimundo, asked permission to add a few words. He explained that the spirit and cheerfulness he had found in Luine spoke well for her family and for all those to whom she attached her affection. "As a Jarian disciple, I worship the Life Spirit, the kernel of vitality in each creature. I believe that this does not dissolve with the fleshly body, but takes its own path after bodily death.

"I would like to say to you, Luine, that even in the void of space there are memories and that, as you travel on your road as an adult woman some day, I hope you will not see the dead as vanished but as a remembrance constantly flashing into your mind, present with you, deathless." He remained silent a moment; he and Meretha and their daughter Palli had talked with Luine during her stay with them, trying to offer the comfort of their own beliefs; he hoped her family would not see this as offensive or an intrusion.

But Luine's mother looked up from her crossed hands and gave him a small smile. Raimundo nodded once, and squeezed his child's hand.

The memorial over, the family thanked Dr. Short and returned to Jenner House. Luine had gone through a brief but frightening tantrum earlier, when her parents had suggested she come back with either on e of them. She did not want to leave Akadem; but neither did she have any idea what she _would _do next. The fact that Gien had died here, and died so violently, made her hate the place; yet she could not think of being on a ship with Pop or Mama for the next few months or even years, being reminded constantly by their kind, sad faces – and the unspoken questions about Gien's last days. They had been told by Dr. Short about the hearing and the surprise conclusion of yesterday's session. "No one can be charged with his murder so far. We have had to take back the charges against the Romulan student, on the evidence. I am sorry, but we cannot give you closure right now. We have no other leads at the moment. I'm very sorry."

Now Raimundo and Dalia would take Gien's ashes and have them ejected into space from the shuttle. Luine begged off. She loved Gien too much. She couldn't look at him being spread into the void and still _halfway_ believe that it might have been some wonderful, horrible mistake, a botched identification of the body, and Gien might come triumphantly out of hiding _any minute now_… Her parents were too wise to insist. They would stay in the small guest building next to Faculty House for the night, and they hoped that their daughter might change her mind in the meantime.


	24. Chapter 24: In the Federation's Best Int

Chapter 24: "In the Federation's Best Interests"

A full house of students and faculty awaited the start of the Inquiry Board's proceedings in an auditorium in the Social Sciences complex- and countless others were "attending" in virtual space by the time the hearing started that morning. The seven members of the Board quickly gave them something to comment on. Semmelweiss as official Speaker for the Board, announced immediately that, in view of evidence presented the previous day, the accused Tesat was exonerated of the charge of murdering Gien Kai-Mekelen. This was a stronger verdict than anyone had expected, and many among the students murmured approval; more than one had observed that they did not believe Tesat had a weapon, and if she did, and _wanted_ to kill someone, she would have taken the dagger with her. It was known of Romulans that to lose one's weapon was a disgrace. Student e-chat and in-person comments showed that quite a few instant criminology experts had sprung up overnight. Even in the "rarefied swamp of academe", as Ken Deal had once called Akadem, the fictitious exploits of Miss Marple, Poirot, Sherlock Holmes, Per Sostalino, and numerous other detective heroes were still avidly devoured.

It was to be Sarader Komack's big day. The Board had approved carrying forward the previous day's testimony into the record for today's proceedings, insofar as it related to the espionage as well as the murder charge. Now Tesat's prime accuser was called to the stand as the first live witness by prosecutor Konor Thrav. She could have testified from her office over the network, but relished the old-fashioned courtroom scenario as most suited to her sense of the dramatic. Thrav did not look as though he were looking forward to the upcoming task, but he was one who saw his duty and did it.

"Would you tell the Inquiry Board, please, what your relationship is to Tesat the Romulan, of Helva?"

Komack's chin jutted forward: _Here I come!_ "Tesat was a student in my Military History basic course in Alpha and Beta Quarters last academic year. I have had no other contact with her." She felt like adding, _Thank God._

The prosecutor next asked what computer access a student at Tesat's level would be granted, and to what types of secure or restricted files she might be able to gain access.

"Able - I don't know. Authorized – none. Classified Federation diplomatic documents, or Star Fleet materials, are only permitted to students on the diplomat, historian, or military science tracks, and only with specific clearance. But other files, not so restricted, are accessible to the rawest ten-year-old newcomer."

"You stressed _able_. If a person knows how to manipulate the information banks, he or she _can _retrieve classified materials no matter what the student's level, is that correct?"

"It is." She swept the assembly of students as if knew a thing or two about some of them… a most effective tool in class control. "And it has been done, although I suspect mostly for the thrill of it."

Konor Thrav allowed himself no smile. "And what has been your interest in Tesat, the accused?"

"I was performing routine checks on students accessing military and military-history databases and files, and her name appeared on scan records. She was authorized to use certain history files for a course in another department. But I also noticed she had been coding into classified databases. So I monitored her code use for a while and saw it happening pretty steadily. I have the backups derived from Central Memory, if you would like to put them into evidence." She was enjoying her own presentation; even when she looked over at the table where Tesat sat with Howard Brady and some of her professors – softsided apologists all! – Komack's triumphant eye did not falter. The young Romulan's face was a study in suppressed fury.

The Board reviewed the memory records. Dr. Brady asked for a copy, which was transmitted to his terminal and would be given him in hard copy as soon as it could be run. Konor Thrav continued taking Komack's testimony.

"Last Thursday I received a tip, from a person whose identity I must conceal, that there was about to occur an instance of espionage against the United Federation of Planets, at this very school. I was informed that Tesat the Romulan was to receive secret information from an unnamed courier. I acted as quickly as I could, in the Federation's best interests, and monitored calls placed and received by this student." Konor Thrav had an aloof, distasteful expression on his face. _Fine for you to be so self-righteous,_ she thought venomously,_ you may be a diplomat, but you've never been at war. And this is war._ "A call was made to the room terminal of the student Luine Kai-Mekelen, who has already placed her deposition that the call was directed to her late brother, Gien Kai-Mekelen from the independent freighter _Halcyon_, and that the content of the call referred to a plot. The Federation was mentioned specifically in the conversation. Furthermore, later that night Kai-Mekelen went out of Jenner House around 2300 hours, ostensibly to meet with someone who had left him a message on another terminal… which was the last time anyone saw him alive."

The prosecutor asked Dr. Komack some additional questions about the time of day of the informant's visit, and of the call she had traced to Luine's room. He knew that Howard Brady would ask all the necessary questions in favor of the accused, but in fairness…

"Dr. Komack, can you disclose to this Board the name of the person who revealed what you took to be a plot against the Federation?"

"I cannot. The person giving such information would be at considerable risk, and I believe there is ample legal and moral precedent for not giving out the name of someone who acts in good faith to prevent a serious security breach." Her words were steady and reasonable, but her look made Konor turn a milky-blue for a moment.

_The woman is a menace,_ he thought. "Dr. Brady, my examination of this witness is complete for now."

Howard Brady waited to see if the Inquiry Board would call an early lunch recess, but India Semmelweiss gestured impatiently for him to begin.

He rose and ambled toward the smooth-topped table at which Sarader Komack sat with both square hands palms down, glowering at him. "Dr. Komack," he began in a friendly tone, "what specific indications have you _ever_ had that the student Tesat is disloyal to the United Federation of Planets?"

_At least the man is direct_, Komack approved. "This student has shown herself uncooperative and difficult in coursework, and her attitudes expressed during my classes have been quite clearly anti-Federation."

"Clearly? I'd like _you_ to be clear, Dr. Komack. I fail to see how giving you a hard time in class constitutes disloyalty. She is not required to like you personally… _you_, obviously, do not feel yourself obliged to like all of your students! And what about those attitudes?" Brady's voice was still steady and mild.

"In general, much of our study of military history is of course centered on Federation policy vis-à-vis either Klingon or the Romulan adversaries – and when we played simulations of such engagements, Tesat invariably took the adversary role, and I must commend her for her ingenious use of tactics to 'defeat' Star Fleet." She glared over at the Romulan girl and was not surprised to see the disdainful curl of her lip. _If that young woman thinks she can mock me…_ "Her remarks would make it abundantly clear that there was no love between her and the Federation."

"That is hardly a crime, Dr. Komack," India Semmelweiss interrupted. "May I remind all parties that students at Akadem, no matter how young, have freedom of speech and belief?"

Howard Brady nodded. "And of course, if simulation exercises constantly pit the UFP against her own people, it would be a rare and exceptional child who would _not_ take a certain pleasure in being able to have 'her side' come out on top in a game! And the operative word is _game._"

Komack shook her head. "I am telling you what my distinct impression has been. It just does not surprise me that this Tesat could contemplate real action against the Federation."

Tesat's advocate shrugged, casting a quick look back at his client, satisfied that she was calm if not delighted at the instructor's words. "All right, Dr. Komack. Now, you have kindly supplied us with computer records that purport to show access to classified files using Tesat's code? I will, of course, review this information as soon as possible, but would you save the court some time by telling us how often, and when, her code was used to tap into secure files?"

She had the figures dead-accurate and gave them apparently without thinking. "Nineteen security accesses, spaced over the past eleven weeks. She tapped into the files and loaded an unknown amount of data into her own computer."

"Would it surprise you to know that we have had Tesat's personal data banks inspected, with her approval, and have found no materials relevant to security matters?"

Komack shrugged dismissively. "It is interesting in that it indicates absolutely nothing. Any file that can be created can be wiped. Everyone knows that." She was clearly not impressed.

Suddenly the defender wheeled around to her. "Do you make it a habit to tap students' personal communications?"

"A habit? Certainly not!" Komack's voice rose. "Only a serious suspicion of illegal activity, such as I saw in this –"

"And under what authority? Did you have a writ from the Akadem Committee? Dr. Komack, why did you not alert Akadem Security the moment you suspected Tesat of illegal or disloyal activity?"

She smiled tightly at Brady's righteous anger. "Under no circumstances would I want to set Security on a student's tail without evidence! It would have been unjust to accuse Tesat of something unsavory – until I was satisfied she was really doing so." There was a stir in the hearing room as students and others mumbled and exclaimed among themselves. There was a derisive, braying laugh from one corner of the spectators, while flame messages bounced from one student or the other on their portables. At her table, Tesat turned pale. _That woman really has a nerve,_ Howard Brady thought. He decided not to dig into Komack's hypocrisy (where would one start??) and tacked again.

"Dr. Komack, do you have any reason to believe that your informant had any personal grudge against Tesat, in coming to you with this alleged espionage plot?"

"I'm sure I don't know anything about that." She sounded smooth and unconcerned. "He didn't say."

"Any chance you could tell us his name?" Brady expected the same answer she had given Konor. He was right.

"No chance, sorry."

"How about _you_, Dr. Komack? Do you have any personal motives against Tesat the Romulan, in this matter or any other?"

"That is absurd, and I am surprised you would even ask such a question. My concern here is purely to protect Federation interests and to expose any attempt to create trouble." Komack's eyes hooded over and she exuded an aura of supreme invulnerability. Brady switched directions once more.

"You had Tesat's private conversations recorded _after_ your informant had spoken to you?" He stressed the preposition.

"I did."

"All right. Then you must have a record of the conversation Tesat held with Gien Kai-Mekelen, who was at his sister's residence?"

"Actually, I do not. There was a privacy signal blocking the transmission itself. All I have is the indication that such a conversation took place."

"Oh," said Brady innocently, "you didn't actually hear the words. Tell me, tell the Inquiry Board, how a privacy signal differs from interference generated by the equipment, let's say, or by atmospheric conditions?"

Sarader Komack glanced around the room, relishing the tension. "It's simply the _kind_ of interference you meet. One learns to distinguish it, with enough practice." She immediately realized her mistake; everybody else did, too. There was a sharp hissing from someone; students gasped and snickered. India Semmelweiss called the room to order.

"I'd really be interested in knowing, Sar, what kind of 'practice' you've had with this. Have you tried to monitor this student's – _any _student's – private lines before recently?" When she sat unresponsive, a bulldog expression on her face, Brady repeated with cutting rigor, "_Have you_?" He turned to the Board.

"Please note that Dr. Komack isn't responding to this question."

Semmelweiss pointed out, "Dr. Brady, she isn't required to, since this is an inquiry, not a court of law _per se._"

Lu Ting-xo spoke for the first time. "We will note that the question went unanswered, however. Please continue with your examination."

Triumphantly, Howard Brady returned to his subject. "Do you have _any_ record of the content of this conversation between Tesat and Kai-Mekelen? Or that of any other conversations to which Tesat was, or may have been, a party?"

"No actual record, no."

"_Any _hint of anything to do with espionage or activities deleterious to the Federation or to the orderly conduct of galactic government?" Another negative response from the witness… Brady shook his head sadly. "Are you aware of the contents of the bags brought to Akadem by Gien Kai-Mekelen?"

"I am. They contained classified information – which was not passed on, to anticipate your question – merely by circumstances fortunate to the Federation."

Tesat, sitting at her table, watched her accuser with mounting hatred, glad for her years of training in self-control. She remembered the laughable packet of "secrets" Gien had tried to pass to her, and wondered that their value as negotiable "classified information" had not yet been discredited. But Brady was getting there, all in good time.

"Were these 'secrets', as you call them, of a nature to really damage the Federation or its allies? Aren't they, in fact, a rather lame little collection of documents that any of your medium-cleared Seniors could call up from public databases?"

"The fact that security-cleared students could access them doesn't change the fact that – important of not – they were in the process of being illegally and in clandestine fashion passed from off the planet to a Romulan citizen." She gave the defendant, her counsel, the Board, and especially the Romulan representative a baleful stare.

Brady peered at her as if studying an interesting specimen. "But, Dr. Komack, no one has _found _any of these documents, or any of the money that we know to be missing from among Gien Kai-Mekelen's effects, or any data printouts from the classified databases, anywhere among Tesat's possessions or on her person."

"Not from any lack of desire, Dr. Brady," she shot back. "Don't insult my intelligence. There just wasn't enough opportunity."

"All right, Sar, no more questions from me now," he concluded, turning his back on her abruptly. "I may want to go over some more things later, but I think the Board had heard enough of this." He went to sit beside Tesat. Komack did not exchange looks with any of them as she was excused and resumed her seat in the first row of spectators. Saavik, also in that row, as an upcoming witness, looked from the grimly determined face of the Admiral's daughter, to the pale-green marble of Tesat's countenance, and again wished there were no need for her to mix into this matter of emotion and accusation.

--

The part of Luine's deposition that covered the last vidphone conversation between her brother and Tesat was played again for the Board. Saavik listened intently; her only role in this hearing would be to offer corroboration for what her quadmate had testified. The young girl's voice, cracking with pain and emotion, recounted the general content of the exchange: she identified the accused, Tesat of Helva, then present in the hearing room, as the person she had seen on the screen of her room terminal the afternoon in question.

Saavik was surprised at how poor and confused Luine's memory was. While Saavik remembered verbatim what both Gien and Tesat had said – except for just a few words and phrases spoken too softly for even her fine hearing to pick up – Luine could only paraphrase and sum up the gist of the conversation. And when Brady (who had conducted yesterday's oral examination in a very firm but kind manner) had asked her if she had any better idea now of the identity of the mysterious third person claimed by Tesat as the middleman, the girl had not known. Brady had also asked her if the name "Avennen" rang a bell, and Luine had shaken her head miserably. It was blanked out.

This stunned the Vulcan. She had not realized how badly Luine's memory had lapsed. In the few moments she had spent with the girl over the past days, they had never discussed the upcoming hearings, and Saavik had assumed Luine's memory to be nearly as good as her own. Now, when her own turn came, there would, indeed, be some new information.

After the re-hearing of Luine's words, India Semmelweiss finally ordered a noon meal recess, and permitted Tesat to move freely in the company of her defenders. The Romulan was quiet, seemingly much more composed than both Howard Brady and Caryamandis knew her to be in fact. The representative from the Romulan Empire, still looking uncomfortable, made no move to speak to her. Brady, wanting to put the man at ease, invited him to join them for the meal.

He unbent a little, but declined. "I do not think it the wisest move, sir. Perhaps my presence with the young woman would not help her in the outcome of the hearing." He was careful not to call it a trial; he and Semmelweiss had been over that territory and he was not eager, in any case, to speak to humans more than was necessary. He half-bowed to Tesat. She tried to read his expression. It was not difficult to read his nonverbal message: _If you are fool enough to want to attend a Federation school, do not be surprised if your new friends stab you in the back._

Tesat looked into his flinty eyes. "Thank you for your concern. My rights are being well looked after." She knew that he was watching her as she passed from the room with the professors, but she did not look back at him.

--

Saavik also watched Tesat leaving the room. Not intending to take lunch herself, she left the building after assuring the Board clerk, a harried-looking Andorian woman, that she would indeed be back promptly. She was scheduled to take the stand right after Tesat.

Walking briskly to the terrazzo, and glad that she did not see too many familiar faces, Saavik looked for and found an unoccupied bench. She thought of composing a letter to Spock on her portable, or adding to her personal log, but the timing and atmosphere were not right. She despised herself as a weak-willed emotionalist, but this did not give her sufficient push to organize her thoughts, either. She was about to try a short meditation when a shadow fell across her bench.

The Admiral's daughter was every bit as imposing up close as she was on the formal witness stand. Komack's heavy-lidded eyes took in the whole of Saavik as if to find out her secrets and judge her usefulness to society, all in one glance. She had no known quarrel with Vulcans, and Saavik did not know what should have earned her such a contemptuous stare… unless Komack's inquisitive nature had somehow led her to some of the truth about her…

… And Sarader Komack hated Romulans. She was obviously ready to go to extraordinary lengths to show just how much she despised them. Saavik had certainly known and perceived negative emotions directed at herself in the past – indifference, cruelty, unkindness. But never such contempt. And as she returned Komack's look, she felt in herself a resentment – not against the human who was prepared to hate her but, illogically, against the Romulan girl for whose sake she was being hated.


	25. Chapter 25: Romulan Honor

Chapter 25: Romulan Honor

Tesat's posture at the witness table was straight and composed, while Brady summarized the information already recorded before the Inquiry Board as well as her personal data for the record. The defender reserved the right to bring some character witnesses later – Caryamandis, Gale Kyllie, and some of Tesat's fellow-students. But he hoped that Tesat's public stance would speak of her character. Automatically, he ran his gaze over them all as he spoke: the Board members all attentive and unreadable… Sarader Komack sitting behind Konor Thrav, glaring at the girl… Thrav remaining quiet in typical Andorian impassivity… the assembled students and faculty shifting restlessly, showing enough excitement for all of them. This was, after all, the first really big legal proceeding ever on Akadem, and qualified as the best reality show ever. Many students had cut classes, either to attend at the auditorium or to follow remotely via their portables.

"Tesat, may I ask you to tell exactly what you contacts were with Gien Kai-Mekelen and other persons in the matter under investigation?"

Though warlike, the Romulan is also an organized and efficient being. Tesat was no different. She recounted the string of incidents, emphasizing her contact with the man who called himself Avennen. "The face was familiar. I am certain he was a student here, but I only know the name because he told it to me."

Brady interjected here that Tesat had assisted in the attempt to piece together a holo portrait with detains about his face and build, but that so far they had had no luck finding him.

"He contacted me on my room terminal, offering some 'reliable information' about Star Fleet weaponry. I interpreted this correctly as an overture to espionage, and challenged him on it, but he did not give up." Tesat sounded disgusted. "He brought the courier to me as I was exercising on the track near Science I complex."

"You had not encouraged Avennen's second contact in any way?"

"No, sir, I did not. And Avennen did not stay. He let the courier talk to me alone. I was furious with him."

"This was Gien Kai-Mekelen?"

"It was. He was very uncomfortable when he realized I was not interested. And I told him to take his secrets and destroy them."

Brady wanted to make sure Tesat's loyalty went unquestioned. "Tesat, did you say anything either to Avennen or to Kai-Mekelen that might have led them to believe you were interested, despite your refusal?"

"Absolutely not!" And Tesat went on to explain that after the abortive meeting, she had called Avennen that afternoon. "I shall be perfectly honest, Dr. Brady. I wanted to go find that Avennen and incapacitate him. But I forced myself to remain in my quad. Then, I thought of influencing the courier to leave and take his documents with him. That would finish it either way."

"You found out where the courier was staying."

"I checked his name on the planet guest register, found the sister's quad, and called there. He was in, and I told him once again of my displeasure. I told him in the strongest terms that I wasn't the one he could buy to commit espionage against the United Federation of Planets. After I cut him off, I believed that would be the end of it."

"Tesat – did you make any move to report this to Security?" Brady felt he must ask; it would be better now than under Konor Thrav's examination.

She looked out of clear brown eyes. "I didn't, because I really didn't feel that this guy, this courier, had anything serious to pass on. I wished to forget that nonsense." She continued ruefully, "Now I see that it would have been better for me to say something right away. But it was already evening – and they came the next day to arrest me." She made a wry face. "I lost control over myself for a moment and struggled with the Security officers."

Howard Brady was glad she had brought it up herself, and in fact the greens' statements about this were already in the record. Besides, the bruise on Tesat's face was still an obvious greenish-brown. "You were indignant and surprised, not expecting to be arrested?"

"Don't lead your witness _too _much, Howard," India Semmelweiss warned him. He bowed in her direction.

"Yes, sir," Tesat answered quietly. "I expected trouble but not a murder charge. I believe I did not damage either one of them too badly."

There was a ripple of amusement among the students; but in her mind Saavik was considering the deadliness of a true Romulan berserker rage, and wondering how the Security people had escaped serious maiming. "So, the arrest was the next thing you knew about all this?"

"That's right. I didn't feel Kai-Mekelen had what he obviously thought he had." Even more to the point, Tesat felt the entire "plot" had been a waste of time, and that it would be a better idea to just forget about it than to trouble Security. But she did not say so; it would not help her if she appeared flippant before the people who would judge her.

In the hearing room, the atmosphere was reflecting the students' moods. Apparently the question of Tesat's reluctance aroused some doubts. Dr. Komack smiled to herself. Brady pressed on. "Tesat, have you ever had any reason to think that your communications were being monitored, or that your personal computer programs were tampered with"

Konor Thrav looked for a second as if he might object, but subsided and settled back into his chair. The Romulan girl gazed down at her slim hands. "Yes. Earlier this Quarter, I found some strange glitches in my displays and some fuzz on my terminal. My roommate is a computer student and told me this might be from somebody else, a third party, trying to access my accounts."

"So you designed a privacy signal?"

"An overlay. My roommate helped me to rig it. I really did not suspect anyone listening at first, but the odd features kept showing up – not when I used internal functions, but only when I made communications calls and accessed main-bank files." There was a buzz of comment in the auditorium.

"Why didn't you or your roommate damp out the interfering party, or track down the source?"

Tesat shook her head. "We could not. I certainly don't have the skills, and even Rufia – Rufia Helmons, my roommate – doesn't have that kind of training yet."

"I'm surprised, Tesat. I thought you had sophisticated computer training." Brady used the tactic to draw out a point about his client.

"No, actually, I am a biologist." She said it proudly: an adult, a scientist, a student of peaceful pursuits… perhaps a new departure for her belligerent race. "My computer skills are adequate for my daily work. Any of my instructors would be only too happy to complain about my problems with computers. I have a part-time job in a computer lab, but the knowledge does not come by osmosis." The listeners laughed; India Semmelweiss called the room to order again.

Brady's smile was broad, and he turned it prominently in Sarader Komack's direction. "Have you ever accessed, or attempted to access, and classified files, either political or military, while here on Akadem?"

"Never. I would not _know_ how to progress through all the levels of security involved. I hadn't used any military files, except what all the other in the Federation History course were using, and in some other related courses over the past year."

"You said earlier that you thought that there was an interference when you used your terminal to access files. What kind of interference?"

"Is all this relevant?" Konor Thrav challenged mildly. His antennae twitched with impatience.

"It is, Thrav. Dr. Semmelweiss, this line of thought is directly germane to the allegation that this student has committed disloyal acts." The head of the Board motioned for him to continue.

Tesat described the unusual delay and hesitation in the computer's response, and the fact that the balance sheet on which her file-accesses were printed out showed many more access points than there should have been. Casually, Dr. Brady asked her how many extra accesses were claimed. In fact, he knew: going over the printouts that morning with Tesat, they had found a correlation. But he would let her explain it.

"I was not certain. But then I saw that a lot of the accesses were in pairs – two hits recorded at the same time, over and over again. I do not remember that ever happening before. We counted the pairs; there were nineteen. Nineteen extra accesses at least." The impact certainly was immediate. Konor Thrav flicked an impassive eye at Komack, who looked at her hands in her lap.

T'Eilibit, the Vulcan logician, broke in, "Let me ask the accused's attorney a question. Is there a point he wishes to make, that might be made directly and not through the process of examination?" Her low voice sounded just a touch impatient.

Brady inclined his head gallantly. "Indeed there is. We took these instances of double-access and compared them – just for interest, of course – with the print of supposed classified file accesses made from Tesat's terminal and using her codes. These items were so thoughtfully provided to us by Dr. Komack.

"The dates and times are identical. I am putting this before the Board now; consider that when Tesat was accessing her own particular set of data files, there was always a second, automatically triggered logon, into a top-secret file, this also recorded in her transactions file. Tesat does not possess the capability of creating such a program. Only a sophisticated computer expert could have done this." He paused, deliberately avoided looking at Komack, and then finished, "I don't know who _did_ rig this program. The important thing is that Tesat did not."

"Thank you, Dr. Brady," T'Eilibit said. "Please go on."

Howard Brady resumed. "To go back: Tesat, please tell us exactly what was said between you and Gien Kai-Mekelen that night, in your final conversation."

Tesat repeated the words precisely. Brady thanked her and announced his questions were done.

In the moments while Konor Thrav prepared to take his place, Saavik sat in her front-row seat and thought. She had listened to Tesat; she believed her and had no true reason to think her a traitor. She had heard the other's account of the conversation and found the Romulan's memory as accurate and sharp as her own. Something nagged at her, though; she was not used to memory blanks, yet something seemed to be missing… And there was still that bit of illogic… that feeling against the Romulan. This was most alarming to Saavik, who had thought her psyche exorcised of hate, even for Romulans; she _had_ believed herself at last arrived at a point where she was merely indifferent to them.

Konor Thrav stood, his slight frame balanced on graceful, shifting feet. In this predominantly human forum, alien faced alien, authority faced accused. "Tesat, only a few questions from me. I will not question you about the matter of your computer accesses. I will accept your counsel's assertions, and will of course review the records as soon as I can. I do want to ask you if there is anyone else who could confirm the existence of this man Avennen, whom you claim to have turned down in the initial approaches."

She shook her head. "No one that I know of, sir. Our contacts were over the vid, so I saw him, but no one else was with me when we talked. When he brought Kai-Mekelen out to the track, he went off before I could see him properly… but I got a good impression."

"Please stay with the question."

"I am sorry, sir. The only other person who saw Avennen – that I know of – was Kai-Mekelen. And he is dead."

The Andorian did not comment on this. "We do not, then, have any evidence that Avennen exists. I am also not satisfied," he drove on in his sibilant voice, "about your reasons for not alerting Akadem Security at any time during all this. You recognized a security risk to the Federation; why did that not seem to be a grave enough situation?"

"I didn't _think_ it was a risk, sir. I saw it as an attempt, a cheap trick, to appear as espionage…a juvenile game, I guess… something that was so stupid that I couldn't see how either of those people took himself, or it, seriously."

Thrav was not convinced, and said so. Then he asked, "Did you see any of the documents Kai-Mekelen had with him?"

"I chose not to." Her voice rose, proudly. "I had _him_ look at them, and he looked ashamed of himself and put them away. So I think I was right – they were not much in the nature of 'secrets'."

The prosecutor remarked that Federation experts would be on-planet soon to check this out, then took Tesat back over the ground that Brady had covered, concerning the conversations with Avennen and Kai-Mekelen. From his questions and reactions, it was obvious that he was conscientiously doing his job, that despite the reservations he had already expressed, he did not share Sarader Komack's obsession with showing Tesat guilty. When Konor Thrav thanked her politely and she had returned to her seat beside Brady, Komack's dissatisfaction was evident. The woman half-turned toward Tesat and stared in hostility.

Saavik, looking on with fascination, saw Tesat's mouth moving, saw more than heard the Romulan obscenity. And _this_ jogged her memory. _Of course…_ and now Saavik remembered something that would possibly save Tesat's neck. Or…?

--

Saavik first faced Howard Brady, who had already heard her side of the events earlier and again that morning. He was not expecting anything new from her, only a corroboration of Tesat's own words. Luine had proved a poor witness and had at best been indifferent if not actually hostile to Tesat's interests. Brady figured the Vulcan girl as a steady sort, and hoped that her less emotional testimony would serve as the necessary confirmation for Tesat's innocence.

She identified herself to the Inquiry Board as a Vulcan from the Federation science ship _Stanek_, and no one seemed overly interested in her unusual point of origin, although T'Eilibit raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. Dr. Brady asked her to explain her connection with the case. "How did you happen to hear this conversation? Were you in the room?"

"I was in my own room. Luine Kai-Mekelen's terminal was located in the other bedroom. The doorways of both our rooms in to the common room of the quad were unobstructed."

"I believe that all students on Akadem are aware only too well of the lack of privacy in quad rooms." The audience laughed a little at Brady's remark. It was all too true. "Were you listening actively?"

"I was at my own terminal, studying. The voices of the people conducting the conversation were quite loud. There was no attempt to hide any part of the talk. In addition, my hearing is excellent and I heard the words quite distinctly." Saavik was displeased that Brady seemed to be implying that she was an… eavesdropper, as humans called it. He held up his hand as he noted the precision of her phrasing.

"Saavik, I am _glad_ that you heard. Will you tell the Board and all of us here what you heard? Take your time and recall the exact words."

This was what Saavik did, recreating Tesat's clipped, pithy manner of speaking. The expressions were not ones she would have chosen; she disliked slangy speech and deplored the imprecision and frivolity it lent to the conversations of humans and other illogical species. Romulans she counted among these. However, she had to admit that the Standard spoken here on Akadem, composed of so many parts of Earth languages and loaded with English and Russian slang, served its purpose as a versatile tongue, adaptable enough for anyone's use. Saavik repeated Tesat's imprecations against both Avennen and Gien.

"You are quite certain that you heard that name correctly?" The professor wanted that in the record.

"Yes. The caller named that name specifically."

Brady asked, "What would you say about the tone of voice of the caller?"

"She was angry, very angry."

"Did her anger sound genuine?"

Saavik looked at him rather coldly. "I cannot speculate, Dr. Brady. She sounded angry, her words were attacking Gien Kai-Mekelen, and she ended the conversation very abruptly and broke the connection from her end."

He nodded his satisfaction. He knew that Konor Thrav would ask, so… "Be certain, Saavik. Are you absolutely sure that the person who called Luine Kai-Mekelen's room terminal was Tesat, the accused sitting in this hearing chamber?"

"I am, Dr. Brady. She has a distinctive voice and intonation." Saavik hesitated a moment. Howard Brady, thinking she was perhaps unsure of the truth of what she had said, assured her.

"You are quite right. And Luine Kai-Mekelen has also identified Tesat as the person whom she saw on her terminal screen that evening. I just want to be sure to put your identification on record." He smiled. "No more questions."

The Vulcan had hesitated for quite a different reason than Brady supposed. She had been about to tell her other criterion for knowing the unseen speaker as Tesat, but now there was no need, was there? Had she not done her share to exonerate the Romulan? Tesat's fate, on principle, was of no greater importance to her than that of anyone else.

Then an innate sense shame came over her, as her teachings in honor brought her up short. She hoped that she was not showing it outwardly… and the deeper shame came from the realization that she had been about to risk someone else's justice to cover her own secrets. Yet… _Tesat would certainly go free anyway, wouldn't she?_

There was no more time to think, since Konor Thrav now stood before her, not unfriendly but quite prepared to challenge her. "Saavik, do you know the accused, Tesat, other than from the conversation you overheard?"

"I have met here once before. I do not know her personally." Saavik looked over at the older girl, who was returning her glance with neutral curiosity.

"But you know her voice that well?"

"I spoke with her when I met her. I have an excellent auditory memory." Aware that this might sound arrogant to the Inquiry Board, she nevertheless believed and knew it to be true,

"I see." Thrav turned partly away from her. "So you heard her voice _one_ time – and then heard a voice you _think_ was hers… through an intervening common room. You are asking the Board to believe a lot of extraordinary things about your powers of hearing and memory."

With as much dignity as a girl of fourteen could muster, Saavik said, "It is all as I said. I can tell you what Dr. Komack said to you this morning at the prosecution table, before she took the stand. I was sitting, as you know, in the front row on the other side of the room, further away from you than I am now." She let the challenge hang, waiting to be asked to elaborate. Komack was livid, Konor Thrav uncomfortable. There was a giggle among the assembled students. India Semmelweiss cleared her throat.

"Young woman, I believe that the conversations between Drs. Komack and Thrav are not material for this hearing. If there is something we _should _hear, you may let me know in private after today's session. Allow it to be granted that your hearing is excellent." She was stern. "Please tell anything else that might satisfy Dr. Thrav's curiosity."

So it _would_ come to this. Konor Thrav resumed, his face revealing some annoyance at her last statement. He was no stickler for faculty-student etiquette, and he rather liked the Vulcan student who had come to him boldly for help with chess problems from time to time… but the chance that Sarader Komack's unfortunate _sotto voce_ remarks might be revealed to their colleagues annoyed him.

"Please tell us what led you to be so certain that Tesat – if indeed that is whom you heard – was opposed to the alleged plot. After all, this might have been an arranged scene, with the girl pretending opposition in case someone was listening."

Saavik gave him a level gaze. "I do not think so."

"Why not?"

"Because of what she said." _Don't make me…_

"Words can be false."

She almost shook her head, almost yielded to frustration. Very quietly, very controlled, she explained, "Not the insults or the accusations in her dealings with Gien Kai-Mekelen, Dr. Thrav. At the very end – just before she broke the connection – Tesat said some words…in Romulan. That is also a reason to be absolutely certain it was she."

Konor Thrav raised his head. At the defense table, Tesat sat forward, startled, staring at Saavik. "Do you understand Romulan, then?" The Andorian seemed not to have considered this possibility.

"I do."

"What did she say? What difference does it make to the question of her veracity?"

"Dr. Thrav, may I explain something about the Romulan sense of honor? You may check this with studies of their culture and anthropology." Saavik felt all eyes in the room turn to her… especially Vulcan eyes – T'Eilibit, Stebit, and other Vulcans in the audience. "Tesat ended with an oath. An oath that is only spoken in private by a Romulan, and one that places the honor of an entire house or family on the line. Tesat spoke that oath not believing anyone hearing her would understand. _She is telling the truth._"

Thrav shifted his attention to Tesat, now sitting rigidly, almost angrily in her place by Howard Brady. He asked, "Saavik… what did she say?"

"It is not an oath to be heard or repeated."

He addressed himself to Tesat. "What did you say to Gien Kai-Mekelen?"

The Romulan's voice trembled with the unexpected betrayal, the violation of privacy that might, ironically, now turn the Board in her favor. "I shall not tell," she declared. "It is as Saavik the Vulcan says. The oath is a private one and its use is an absolute guarantee that one's heart is not false." That was all.

Semmelweiss spoke from her place. "Saavik, you are not bound to this secrecy. We will have the cultural origins and meaning of this oath researched later. I want to know – and so do my colleagues here – what the mystery is all about."

Saavik did not look at Tesat as she quoted in translation, "'May my House be forever dishonored if I lie. May my ancestors' memories lie in the stink of shame if I be false. May my descendants dry up in my body if my heart be turned from the truth.'" Her last words came in a near-whisper in the dead-quiet room. She had spoken without inflection or emotion, yet everyone seemed to hear the words as they must have sounded in Tesat's voice, impassioned and fervent.

The Andorian broke the silence. "No more questions. I would ask Tesat why she did not tell us of this before."

The Romulan girl stood up by her table. "To have mentioned it would have shamed me. Its mention now _does_ shame me." She sat down and after a moment's hesitation Konor Thrav spoke again.

"That is all."

"Very well," India Semmelweiss concluded. "This day's hearing is over. If either Dr. Thrav or Dr. Brady has other witnesses or evidence to present, let them come to us privately. And I do want to hear _anything_. It serves no one's justice to keep any information from the Inquiry Board." With this admonition, she closed the session.

Saavik rose slowly and as if undecided where to go. Dr. Brady came up to her. "That was inspired, Saavik. Why didn't you let us know before now? And how did you –" He decided not to ask any further when he saw how pale she looked. "I'm going with Tesat now, bit I'd like to speak with you later." She nodded and he returned to his client.

Never had Saavik felt so surrounded by hostile or ambivalent emotion, never since the Hellguard years. Sarader Komack obviously hated her now if she had not already begun to do so before. Most people must think her indecisive. Brady was puzzled by her actions. And Tesat… as the Romulan girl's eyes raked over her in passing out of the room, Saavik remembered the afternoon at the computer center when Tesat had addressed her in the Romulan tongue and she had presented a blank expression. Now the deception was obvious. Perhaps she _had_ done her best just now to save Tesat trouble, but there had been pretense, there had been a self-serving moment. And if Tesat hated and despised her it would not be surprising. Saavik left the room fighting panic, feeling almost physically sick. Fellow-students called to her, but she imagined that they were only mentioning her name in speculation – about that Vulcan girl who knew so much about what it meant to be Romulan.


	26. Chapter 26: From All Sides

Part III: The Turning

Chapter 26: From All Sides

The news of Tesat's exoneration spread across the school within hours the next morning. The Inquiry Board had consulted some library anthropology and xenology files, discussed matters among themselves, called Tesat back in (she still refused to discuss the mysterious oath), and made the decision that the evidence did not support a charge of espionage. Howard Brady was exultant, as were a surprising number of classmates who had been prepared to come forward as character witnesses if needed. Their heroine was quietly pleased to be free, but still resentful of the invasion of her privacy and integrity represented not only by the secret oath being made public, but by the entire process of detention and trial. It was hard to believe that the entire ordeal had lasted only ten days.

As Tesat was being allowed to regain the feeling of freedom in her quad, Saavik was spending her time in meditation or in an uncommunicative silence before her terminal. Class work had been neglected and must be caught up; her professors would expect full and accurate work regardless of personal distractions. She convinced herself of these things and avoided talking very much with her quadmates.

…Not that this was much of a problem the evening after her testimony, or the next morning. Neill never said much to anyone, anyway. Luine was almost sullen, so unlike her old inquisitive, buoyant self. Saavik knew the young girl held Tesat completely responsible for Gien's death, in an illogical way to be sure, and resented the person – Saavik – who had given the final touch to Tesat's exoneration. Only Carinne had started to talk about things, but had sensed Saavik's inner trouble, without understanding the details. "Remember that I am your friend," was all she had said, leaving Saavik to herself.

The Inquiry Board had _not_ left her alone. As India Semmelweiss had said they might, they had called her back to hear her repeat the remarks Dr. Komack had made to Dr. Thrav during the hearing. They had not been particularly germane to the prosecution of Tesat… but their obscene and personally defamatory nature threw some very unfavorable but accurate light on the motives and personality of Dr. Sarader Komack. The Board had thanked Saavik curtly and let her go.

Howard Brady, however, had not allowed her to escape so quickly. He asked Saavik to stop at his Faculty House office. Uncomfortably she explained that the oath had been a nagging uncertainty, something she had not remembered, in fact, until she took the stand. It was true, but she sensed how contrived it must sound. Dr. Brady had stared at her for a long, long time, then nodded.

"It was an odd kind of thing for someone to say. I'm just glad it came back to you. I don't imagine Tesat is too happy about being overheard, but _I'm_ glad you were in the other room. For her sake. I don't play favorites and never have, but I'm also happy that the one Romulan we have on-planet isn't going to be destroyed by personal vengeance." Perhaps he had said too much, to a young student, about the bitterness he felt towards Sarader Komack. The Vulcan's eyes held steady, however, and it seemed to him that she understood completely.

It was an irony, after this exchange, that the class for that morning was Hakat's ethics course. Saavik had prepared the readings but it was quite another thing that occupied her mind as she sat in his lecture room. The subject of the day was altruism and its manifestations among the civilized peoples of the galaxy. Hakat moved among the philosophical labyrinths of ethical thought with apparent ease, pointing out similarities here and logical contradictions there, noting paradoxes and dilemmas presented in the ethical beliefs of particular groups. He was honest, too: if a moral philosophy laid its believers open to prejudices, if there were flaws that permitted societies to justify exclusion of some of their citizens, Hakat pointed this out also.

Although the case of Tesat had no direct relevance to their subject, the discussion of altruism went on in a general atmosphere of excitement that followed this recent, dramatic, semi-public airing of right and wrong. Nothing was said to Saavik about her part in Tesat's defense; she did not participate in the class discussion, preferring to listen to the others' opinions.

AiAnn, the young Deltan, spoke up. "All these things we have read, sir, don't they all amount to someone deciding that the good of someone else really will come out to one's own good – if you allow the other person to get hurt, you suffer yourself."

Hakat did not smile but his eyes registered gentle and informed amusement. How Deltan an outlook! "AiAnn, in any society which relies on the close ties of being to being, or where there is an extremely close bond between people by their biological nature, altruism seems to be an absolute necessity.

"And, on the other hand, it can amount to the same thing as self-interest, to use a more cynical term."

"Enlightened self-interest?" Brad Franks ventured. Hakat did not mind interruptions if they advanced the discussion at hand. He merely nodded.

"So it has been called. The question, then: How much can the interest of the 'self' and that of the 'other' be examined as separate referents, and how much must they be taken into consideration as _one_?" He waited. This Beginners' course always drew students who were bright and eager but who still tended to be confused in their thought patterns. These junior students were so woefully deficient in their logic training…

"Think about that carefully; think about it again as you re-read the last assignments. And let us think about a situation that permits, perhaps, a clearer resolution: the case of a society built primarily on individual efforts, where the individual has a great deal of personal liberty in action and speech, and where his or her ties with others are not generally intimate."

Talya Smiths – Saavik remembered her as Samdas's roommate – ventured from behind huge green octagonal sunglasses, "You act for your own ends, and – and most of the time it bothers no one else. But then you find out where you have to depend on other people – so you look out for them, too. You have to."

"Look out, yeah, sure, but –" It was the usually uninvolved Holly Pitone, Luine's friend, her red braids bouncing with the novelty of hard thinking. "Talya, you get laws going to make things run smoothly. But that's all arranged kind of coldly, isn't it? There isn't really any question about altruism there."

Hakat nodded, pleased that the unremarkable little human girl had thought this out, then chided himself for his impatience with some of the less-mature "time-servers" in his course. Holly continued, "Pragmatism – is that the word? – pragmatism in a really individual-based society isn't the same as altruism, is it? Altruism means a lot of really hard work, extra, unpopular work…" Her words trailed off. "I guess I can't explain it right."

The professor held up one bony hand. Holly, AiAnn, Bradley, and all the others paid attention immediately. Hakat began to analyze the roles that altruism played in a number of the societies they had already studied. He showed them the difficulty in motivating individualists to any cause beyond their own. "Certain people with enough astuteness about the direction their society is taking, recognize the need to help those segments of society whose downfall would hurt the whole… and there you have self-interest once more, wearing another cloak.

"More rare are the instances of self-sacrifice, the deliberate decision to seek the other's good for the sake of that person alone. Some societies, as you should have picked up in your reading, are founded upon precisely this basis. Others, perhaps for religious or philosophical reasons, seek to express a feeling – love, brotherhood, call it what you will – that the other's good is as important and valid as one's own.

"Generally, these ethical systems run into trouble because what people _do_ often gets in the way. It is very hard to be altruistic when the other person acts less than intelligent and civilized and good-humored," and he smiled just a little, "less than what your race defines as those qualities, that is. It takes strong faith to counterbalance this.

"And this brings up those systems that are altruistic because of the love of an abstract 'good', not because of the person concerned." Hakat went on in this vein, but for once Saavik was not listening. Like Vulcans, she thought: logic identifies in every situation those things which are 'good', and acts on the straightest line towards those ends. And it _is_ good for _someone_, even if no one feels especially 'good' about it! The Vulcan Way… She admired it; it was her way; there was no better choice for her.

Saavik thought about her own behavior at the hearing. For whom had she testified? For what? There was no feeling that she had done it so that justice might be served… or else, why had she felt no enthusiasm for the whole thing? And there was certainly no personal affection towards Tesat… So, what was served? Justice, indeed… in a roundabout way. She had acted, finally, in a confusion of emotions that she could not explain to herself.

Somehow she waited out the class, watched the others leave, and knew that Hakat would wait for her questions in his turn. He was accustomed to this, and remained at the desk. Saavik approached resolutely.

"You had nothing to say today, Saavik," he said mildly, looking into her eyes. "This rather surprised me." Her participation – in her cool, precise manner that sometimes infuriated her human classmates – was usually a welcome part of his class. The fact that she now stood silently before him told him that the question was probably personal. And Vulcans' personal questions were rarely ordinary.

With difficulty Saavik kept her eyes level with the man's, as he sat in a chair to reduce some of his height advantage. "I have an ethical problem for you, Master."

He refrained from asking whether it was hypothetical, and nodded encouragement.

"A person knows what is right, from years of training and from an inner value structure. Acting according to these values is essential and predictable for this person, even when circumstances are unpleasant. What do you say, then, if this person permits a matter of personalities to sway her from the logical and correct course? What do you say about the depth and sincerity of that training if it can be suppressed by such a changeable thing?" Although her voice was barely inflected, there was nothing theoretical about _this_ question, Hakat guessed.

"You are speaking of a specific instance?"

Saavik seemed to pass over this inquiry, but then nodded, hating herself both for the initial weakness and for having had to expose it to someone else. Hakat was too polite to ask her bluntly what she was talking about; it was bad enough that he would _know_ it had something to do with Tesat's trial.

He folded himself up comfortably, knees at chin level, and considered his answer. "You have the advantage over me, I believe, since this is your scenario. Was any harm done by this person's hesitation to act?"

"No, no harm done. The point is _not_ that she failed to act. It is that she allowed personal motive to control what should have been logical behavior."

"And the motive behind actions _is_ an important factor, one to cause great anguish if it contradicts the person's deepest-held beliefs about the order of the universe."

"Correct." She thought bitterly that apparently the deepest-held beliefs were not embedded quite deeply enough in her. Perhaps she would never catch up to what a Vulcan must learn about self-control, about the individual's proper place in the Vulcan world.

Hakat probed gently, "Was – this person's lapse severe enough to cause mental anguish – severe enough to warrant hypercritical self-judgment?" When Saavik did not answer immediately, he added, "It would appear that a momentary hesitation in doing right, which resulted in no harm to anyone, and which indeed led to the right thing being done after all, is a small fault. It is smaller than being so absolutely confident in one's own actions, failing to think, and then hurting someone, no matter how unintentional the damage might be." He paused. "Does this begin to answer your question? Does it begin to make _you_ think towards an answer?"

His student closed her eyes for a moment and Hakat realized how young she really was. Obviously, whatever was troubling Saavik, it was forcing her to grow up a little more. She certainly had come a long way from the quiet alien his colleague Spock had brought here less than half a sun-cycle ago. When the girl met his eyes once more, she was under control.

"I apologize for detaining you with idle questions."

_Were they, really?_ Hakat thought this, but kept his voice neutral. "No questions honestly asked are idle ones. Asking them is one way you become an adult."

As she left the room, the Vulcan wondered what he knew, and what he had just guessed. She did not remember saying in her "example" that the right _had_ been done in the end. She was sure of that. _Hakat_ had said so. If she could be "read" like that, it was disquieting indeed. It was time to retreat, to be by herself for a while, and to think about Hakat's words. She felt wounded in her Vulcan-ness and she needed to meditate in peace.

--

There was no time for meditation, however. Saavik returned to the quad to find only Luine there. The smaller girl stood up immediately from the couch, and Saavik read the child's troubled mind in her posture, the sullenness abandoned for confrontation.

"Did you _really_ hear – all that?"

"If you mean, Luine, did I hear the conversation between your brother and Tesat – yes, I did. " She knew Luine only half-believed her, and wondered why this was so. "Apparently my recall is more precise than yours."

"I don't remember all that. All I know is, Tesat's the reason Gien is dead!"

Saavik's voice was crisp. "Luine, there was no evidence against her for Gien's murder, regrettable as that was. Even the prosecution did not press for a case."

"_Regrettable?!_" The human balled her fists and shrieked. "It's the _end_ – the end of everything! Don't you see that? And - if she _didn't_ kill him herself, she was mad enough to get someone else to do it! _She_ got him into trouble. They're gonna say my brother was a spy, and it's _all her fault!_"

Unspoken in Luine Kai-Mekelen's tirade was the accusation that Saavik, by speaking for Tesat, had somehow betrayed Luine and the brother she loved. The Vulcan did not make this illogical connection very easily, but it was the only explanation for Luine's overly emotional and irrational outburst. She needed to remove herself from it, and did so without excusing herself, aware that good manners – by human standards – had not been well served. This was a case where she truly did not care.

What she did do was to grab exercise clothes and her _ahn-woon_ and stride out along the walk. Instead of taking the cut across the Main to the gym, Saavik wanted first to pass by Alpha to retrieve some cassettes from her lab locker. At that mid-afternoon hour, most students in the physics building were in class, although their voices could be heard as she made her way down the hallway. For a planet of high technology and sophisticated, space-savvy students and faculty, Akadem's physical structures had many eccentricities, one of which being the internal climate controls. (It had been stated sarcastically by one human student that one day someone on Akadem would discover air conditioning and thus win a Galactic Nobel.) Fortunately, most classrooms had windows that could be opened, and the poor ventilators were also being aided by propped-open doors.

It was hot (just right for Saavik and other Vulcanoids) so those students not in classes were clustering in the cooler lower levels, or outside in shady spots on the grounds. Saavik found the lab area deserted. Retrieving the tapes, she resealed her locker, and only then noticed that she was no longer alone. In a corner of the lab, a tall, almost unmoving figure was making adjustments on a spectrometer and entering data codes into a portable. Impossible for her not to have heard Saavik moving around…

She knew that Tesat knew she was there, so Saavik did not leave. _That_ would have been an act of panic and cowardice, where no reason for such existed. She waited. The Romulan, finally satisfied with her settings, turned to face her across the lab.

"I followed your testimony with great interest," Tesat said pointedly in the Romulan common tongue, not in the more respectful mode she would have used with educated equals. "One is constantly surprised at what one discovers. Do you not agree?"

_Saavik could not bring herself to use the language_. Indeed, the common speech was the best she had heard anyone use on Hellguard, except for the occasional military officer of higher rank, come to gamble and shop the black market and visit the whorehouses. She knew this level of the language well, as she knew the implications of Tesat's choosing it over the polite, educated speech. She answered in Standard, "I am merely gratified that you were acquitted, Tesat. You would have been, in any case. My own part was irrelevant."

"Oh, no, my smug Vulcan rescuer, _your_ testimony convinced them, all right. Secret oath… it was all too bizarre to be a lie, wasn't it?" Her face was a remarkable blank, the anger all in her voice. "What gave you the _right_, Saavik of Vulcan? Or, no – you are Saavik of _Stanek_, not of Vulcan. But, again, by what right?"

"I heard. It was relevant to your own testimony." Saavik could not allow Tesat to question her. Again – a situation that disturbed her, made her want to turn and walk out. "I had forgotten it myself, and remembered your words during the examination." Not strictly true, but true enough.

Tesat flung herself around, back to her spectrometer and her experiment. Angrily, she spat out, "If you understood the significance of a _t'aupaan_ oath to my honor, then you as a Vulcan should have known, also, its secrecy. I do not have any more to say to you."

_If that is what humans mean when they "get their feeling hurt", then it is a bothersome thing,_ thought Saavik as she left the lab area slowly, carrying her bag and the cassettes. It was as illogical as Luine's attack – did Tesat prefer a weaker defense case and possible conviction for espionage, over having the nature of her oath made public? Under any dire circumstances, as her ethics class had concluded after hot debate one day, the saving of life was the deciding factor. Even Saavik had agreed with this emotional and sentimental belief, even considering how much trouble it could cause in actual fact.

She walked the short distance to the sports center, quite puzzled by the contradictions of Luine and Tesat. Unconsciously, she agreed with their anger towards her, but not for the reasons they had expressed. She knew she had not fooled Hakat after class: the betrayer of moral standards was she herself. If others blamed her for more trivial misdeeds, the effect was all the same. Illogical, yes – but inside, Saavik felt cold with distaste for herself. And she realized, reflecting on the fact that Tesat had never once lapsed out of the Romulan tongue during their conversation, that she had earned shame on another level, one she had not opened to Hakat or anyone else. She had been protective of _herself_, ready to keep quiet in order to hide her knowledge of things Romulan. She had wanted the safety of anonymity on this planet, had wanted to let herself blend easily with the Vulcans. Well, all that was in question now.

It was frustrating to have to knot her belt three times before getting it right, and actually to miss with the _ahn-woon_ twice before settling into a good rhythm. Damn, what kinds of emotions was she allowing herself to indulge in? Could she not despise the Romulan way of life she had known, without despising Romulans? Without despising herself?


	27. Chapter 27: Unexpected Revelation

Chapter 27: Unexpected Revelation

Ordinarily, Tor would just have said hello and left it at that. He liked Tesat and had been in enough classes with her to appreciate her mental gifts. Ordinarily, he would have been in a group of students and would have gone on to gather around a table with them. This evening, however, he was actually looking forward to the luxury of sitting alone. He had picked the smallest table in the corner of the second level of the Pie – a round, double-decker pavilion that sat at the far edge of one of the athletic fields. There was no service, only servomachines. He ordered a beer and rice crackers and prepared to enjoy solitude. He was startled after a few minutes to see the figure of a girl moving toward a solitary table of her own.

He did not know why he broke the silence, but he called to her and beckoned her to join him. She had that look of preferring to be alone herself, not expecting anyone she knew to be here, since the Pie was used primarily by day. Perhaps he should have respected her privacy; in any case, the deed was done.

Tesat walked over but did not sit until Tor pulled out the other chair with the toes of one foot. She kept her expression polite as she sat; her back remained stiff and her greeting was the same.

"Tesat, you are surprised that I asked for your company." He grinned, not knowing why. She lifted both eyebrows… so achingly familiar, so like T'Lemmi in some ways.

"I am surprised to see you here… alone." In her mind, humans were mostly a social race, and here on Akadem you rarely saw one alone. She did not think she had ever seen Tor without at least one or two friends.

"You're probably tired of hearing and talking about this – but I'm really happy that you're out of trouble." He realized that might have put this a little more tactfully. "You're not going to have any problems finishing up your studies, are you?"

He saw the faint curl of the alien's lip and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't blame you if you decided you'd had it with Akadem. I won't talk about it anymore." Tesat almost allowed herself to smile.

"The thought had occurred to me. But I am Romulan." Unspoken were her pride, stubbornness, many other things no one on this planet could share."I have one year remaining, and I expect no difficulties from the administration." There was a bit of irony in her tone.

Tor wanted very much to ask her what was going to happen to Sarader Komack. Rumors had been circulating all day about a possible faculty investigation of that rock-hearted bitch… One of the reasons Tesat cut such a fascinating figure was her open defiance of the professor over the years; this was bound to multiply since the developments at the hearing. But Tor did not ask.

To his surprise, Tesat asked _him_ a question. Usually she cared little enough about humans' personal affairs. "So – where is T'Lemmi this evening?"

Surprised, he answered, "She's in a philosophy tutorial, I think." It was a fact. They had had another unsatisfactory conversation a couple of days ago, and in the intervening days he had not kept in as close contact as before. He did not mean the pain he felt in admitting this to be so obvious to Tesat, but she caught it. For a moment he feared she would say something placating or rationalizing. But she was Romulan, not Vulcan.

What she did was to fix him with steel-gray eyes that he could not avoid. "T'Lemmi's family situation is… interesting." Seeing Tor's reaction, she went on. "I would not be surprised if she is withdrawing deliberately from her friendships. Her parents are influential in Vulcan high circles… as you know." Tor nodded that he did, dazed at Tesat's peculiar choice of topic. "- and they are ready now to have T'Lemmi and Stiel think about leaving here and returning home." She stopped at the human's expression.

"You seem to know an awful lot about T'Lemmi's personal life," he said, not entirely pleased. It was bad enough to learn that she was bonded with someone he'd never heard about… and to learn in their last conversation that her father had changed his plans and set the actual marriage date much sooner than anticipated; but to have a relative stranger to their friendship be aware of all this, was painful in the extreme.

Tesat gave him the almost-smile again. "Perhaps it would be fairer and more accurate to say that I know a great deal about _Stiel's_ personal life."

"Stiel? What are you trying to say?"

"If their father Shakat is displeased about his daughter's friendship with humans, and particularly about yours –" and she sternly clamped her hand down on his arm to prevent his rising in protest; by God, she was strong! " – then he is, I presume, just as displeased with his son. Stiel is a very correct young Vulcan who is _not_ likely to go off the path set down for him, to the Vulcan Academy of Sciences and to his bondmate… but he, too, has spent too many years here, among aliens not of his own kind."

Tor was skeptical; he knew T'Lemmi's brother pretty well and would agree that Stiel could be Supervulcan, the kind who wouldn't be caught in the slightest illogical move. That had not made him many good friends, though Tor understood him from long habit of being around Vulcans, and tolerated his less bearable sides, for his sister's sake. "So, what do you know about Stiel?"

The Romulan girl slapped the table impatiently. "I have to spell it out for you explicitly? Tor, Stiel is attracted to me. Sexually. It should not happen – he is not yet mature… and if we are told the truth about the relative biologies of Romulans and Vulcans, that attraction should be from _my_ side, not his!" She saw that Tor was properly stunned. It pleased her, somehow. "You see, I have had a number of awkward conversations with him and I have treated him with all correctness, but he acts the male animal when he is around me. I have had to repulse him physically on more than one occasion."

In Tor Srimandan's mind there was a growing anger at Stiel. That hypocrite… putting ideas into T'Lemmi's mind, about the impropriety of interspecies intimacy, when it never even had got to that level between them… and at the same time pursuing a much _more _serious relationship with an alien himself. Did it truly do any good to be friends across the yawning space between alien cultures? He didn't know how Tesat might allow herself to feel about Stiel; of himself, he knew that _he_ felt love for a Vulcan, and he was hurt. The girl seemed to be waiting for a comment; he could find none to make.

"Unlike you, I am _not _emotionally involved. I do not find myself attracted in that way. Events on this planet have taught me not to expect overly much from non-Romulans, despite what everyone says about contact and tolerance and one big, happy galaxy. I am well-prepared and well-armed." She stopped; she was talking too much, and to a human at that. Only to her roommate Rufia did she sometimes expose her feelings like this.

Tor sighed deeply, discouraged, still angry. "Looks like both of us are kind of tied up together in this, even if you don't want Stiel… It's the whole damned business of _you aren't good enough for us_."

"Perhaps," Tesat said more quietly, "perhaps T'Lemmi herself does not believe this."

"I don't think she does, but she sure isn't contradicting her family! And if Stiel were truly attracted to you, _he_ should be willing to get permission to stay here. Tesat," he said earnestly, "so help me, I've never been brought up to think I was some kind of supreme invention of the universe, just for being a human. And I can't see it as right when other species feel that kind of prejudice. Am I crazy?"

She shook her head. "No, just unusual. You know how many of that kind there are. Example: you know Kogan? The 'Klingon Menace'?"

He had to smile then. "The Klingon Menace" was Kogan's affectionate tag since the day he'd arrived. It hadn't been funny all the time. Just as Tesat had her Sarader Komack, so Kogan had had his Gershon Kipp. Dr. Kipp, a statistics and economics faculty advisor, now gone from Akadem, had persecuted the young Klingon, denying him even the status of "person": he would refer in class to "People… and Klingons.."

"Of course I know him. But since Kipp got out of the way, Kogan's made a lot of friends."

"Not friends – people who tolerate him here, barely. I think that even I am in a better situation, since I am not so obviously… alone. I could, if I chose, blend in with the Vulcans. He could not. No one else looks like a Klingon. And Kipp was not the only one to treat him that way. That name may be funny, but there are people who _do_ see him as a menace." Unspoken were her words_: as they do me._ She needed another topic. "Then consider how people treat any of the hybrids."

"I don't know, Tesat – Paul Loman does all right, for instance." But Tor knew she was right. Most of the mixed-species kids he knew had few if any friends on either side of their genetic heritage, and found easier acceptance among other hybrids and completely unrelated species. Selena Dombratty, galactic slut-wannabe, aside from her human boyfriend/leech Gus, had mostly Andorian and Tellarite and Tantai friends; Rakman Nu sometimes seemed more at ease with Vulcans than with either humans or Andorians.

"Paul Loman is an extravert with the back feathers of a Gandan swampwader", he conceded. "He'd have to be, or he'd have poisoned Lefty in his sleep long ago." He became serious then. "I could face that – raising a hybrid child, a child with a Vulcan; it's possible, after all, and –"

" – and you are thinking that merely _wishing_ it would work out could make it so? What a species you are!"

He really wanted to know, thinking back to what Tesat had told him earlier, but he did not want to make it sound indelicate. "Well, can Romulans mate and interbreed with any other species?" Was he blushing? God, he hoped not.

Tesat shrugged. "I have been told that it depends. With humans, no. With other Vulcanoids, yes, with some medical intervention. Probably it is possible with other races, with gene manipulation…" She looked around, shifted in her seat as a not unrelated thought occurred to her. "Tor, I know that you know almost all of the Vulcans on Akadem, as do I. How well do you know Saavik?"

He was caught short by the shift in topic, not noticing the deliberation with which she had put the question. "I do know her. We sometimes take the same gym hours. I've seen her around in the complex. Have you met her – apart from the hearing, I mean?" He was unaware of Tesat's feelings until he sensed the contempt in her answer.

"I have only seen her a few times, but it would not grieve me if I did not see her again. She is still young, but already knows how to play games." Seeing Tor's surprise, she asked, " You like her? Well, then I apologize. She is most unlike a Vulcan, to my mind... I am overdue for a tutorial and have a lot of work to catch up with, as you can imagine."

"Yes, sure." He wondered, as Tesat got up to leave, what in the galaxy that last exchange about Saavik had to do with what they had been discussing. He sat alone for a while, pondering his situation. Why was he so blue? What was stopping him from going out with Cran Pike and Shavrai and Abe Davits and the other party people to the Moon's Navel, or even the Body Bar – off limits, of course – and on to other fascinating adventures later on? When he was in T'Lemmi's company, her Vulcan presence steadied him and he could and did voice contempt for places like the Body Bar, as being juvenile and stupid… but he was human, almost a man. It probably was time for a night out , howling at the moons.


	28. Chapter 28: Confessions

Chapter 28: Confessions

It was hard enough to humble yourself when you knew it was an illogical thing to do. It was even harder when you knew that to live with yourself you _had_ to do it. Saavik was not practiced in the art, for whatever motive. If there was any fault she would have admitted openly, it was her pride. Spock had even encouraged a little of this – to think of the characteristics of both Vulcans and Romulans that were twined and mixed within her. So – it would be very difficult to dictate this particular letter to her mentor. She would not apologize for herself but would tell him exactly what had happened and what she had done. Almost _not_ done, rather. Even if it earned her a cold rebuff from the one being she most respected, it would have to be done.

To summon up the calm needed to put all the events in their proper order, Saavik drew upon Spock's teaching. So often had she been on the verge of some savage outburst or some remark she would have regretted later; so often had she had to admit how ungoverned she still was. But realizing at those times that Spock _was_ with her, always there through that mind-link once established… that had helped her to pull herself up, short of danger. In some odd way, Spock's presence was most perceptible when she stopped trying so hard to feel it.

With determination Saavik set to work. She reported on her school results so far this quarter, and on her activities that she thought might interest him – much like the letters dictated home by schoolmates. Recounting the story of Tesat's ordeal was a bitter task: she left out only the most trivial of details, not glossing over her part in the hearings, not sparing herself in telling the reasons behind her hesitancy to testify… Almost as an aside, she added a reminder that she _had_, after all, testified about the Romulan's oath. She worked to keep her voice steady and her sentences crisp and precise. When she was done, she felt miserable and dissatisfied. But there it was all, in the record.

Calling up all her objectivity, Saavik reviewed the letter and sent it through her terminal to the central mail relay. From there, routine student letters were transmitted by data-burst to a number of deep-space relay posts or to starbases. Ships and home planets would get their mail over the airwaves; return letters followed the same course. Saavik knew Spock would have hers within eight days, since she would not send it by Priority One or Two transmission level. And she knew that on the day he received it she would feel her shame all over again, just thinking about Spock listening to those words from the student he had _tried _to teach to be a good Vulcan.

--

As she left the gym after a double session of karate and _ging-jo_, she was glad to see a friendly face on the person emerging from another door. How to explain her pleasure at the sight of Tor Srimandan's wide grin? Invariably, Tor would tease her or try to rouse some emotion from her, as if it did not matter a bit that she was not human like he was. He greeted her now and remarked immediately on her khaki belt.

"Congratulations, Saavik! That's great! Brand new, huh?"

"Ganav duman Oti and I received them today in _ging-jo_."

"Who did you have to fight?"

She replied, "Several people, actually. For the deciding match we fought Tobit Nhu and Sue Gomez." She remembered the opponents' greater size – they were both older than either she or Ganav – as well as Tobit's baiting remarks made under his breath and unheard by anyone but the two aliens. She had been in a fury, and had used the _toka_ with extra relish when it came to her hand. Saavik had felt a kinship with the young Andorian against the two humans; though, to be fair, Gomez had never given her cause to either like or dislike her.

Tor seemed delighted. He asked politely, "Are you amenable to some company on your walk back? Or would you rather not talk?"

She raised her eyebrows, and once again Tor thought of T'Lemmi: a pang to his heart. They had spent some time together today, thank God, but… "Do _you _wish to talk?" she was asking him, and he wondered at the cautiousness in her voice. Saavik waited a moment, then fell into step beside him. She warned, "I do not want to be asked questions about Tesat's trial, if that is what you had in mind."

"Oh no, no, nothing like that. I get the feeling that the two of you don't get along. I won't poke around in that. I want to tell you about something, and…" He hesitated, almost embarrassed. "And I want to ask your advice."

"My advice? You are years older than I. And whatever problems you have to resolve, my own thoughts certainly cannot have much value for you." She decided not to comment on Tor's remark – after all, what in the stars did he know about her and Tesat?

They walked quietly and, without a word having been exchanged, found a bench underneath one of the pavilions that graced the southern edge of the Main. After they had sat for a few minutes, Tor ventured, "Maybe you _can _help, since my problem has to do with Vulcans."

"Is it about T'Lemmi?"

"Yes, and Stiel." Tor then unburdened himself, describing briefly how T'Lemmi had informed him of her planned bonding with her parents' choice. He did not conceal his own naïveté in the matter. "I had to accept that part, Saavik," he sighed. "I'm not completely convinced that it's what T'Lemmi really wants, though."

"Surely she is free to speak her mind." Saavik did not wish to admit how little she knew about customs on Vulcan.

Tor was restless, tapping his foot on the flagstones. "But why doesn't she, then? That's just it. All this time, I've been making my own assumptions… that she was free to choose… and then it turns out that she's nothing but a chip in someone's game, a bargaining point between two families." He got up and stood facing out towards the Main, the set of his shoulders revealing his tension and unhappiness. Saavik wondered how humans could be so careless in their body language. Yet a few minutes ago Tor had been smiling. How could they be so deceptive, so irresolute?

"Then there was a change, a few days ago." Tor told her of his latest confrontation with T'Lemmi, about learning of the impending marriage. He hesitated, then told her also what Tesat had revealed to him about Stiel. Saavik regarded him disapprovingly.

"This is a highly inappropriate conversation. You should not tell another's confidences," she said almost coldly, acutely aware of the irony of what she had just said. Frankly, the idea of Stiel expressing erotic interest in Tesat shocked her. The less Tor or anyone else said about it, the better. The human boy picked up on her mood and nodded.

"No, I shouldn't. But I want to know what another Vulcan, one who isn't involved, thinks about this. How binding is this kind of agreement? I've heard the standard stories and I've been told things that don't fit in with anything I already know about Vulcans – their logic, their respect for life, their scientific and rational approach to everything." His eyes turned to Saavik expectantly.

She lowered hers in turn. "I cannot speak for T'Lemmi, or for any other Vulcan. I would listen to whatever she has to say, and believe it."

"That's no comfort!"

"I did not intend it to be. If you like her, as the Vulcan she is, then you must also understand what makes her so. If she accepts her family's choice of mate, you must keep your friendship as just that and no more." She heard herself giving this talk with no experience in the field, and wondered if Vulcans did, after all, have a dubious gift of duplicity. Somehow, she had found these ideas; they certainly had no relation to her own life.

Tor did not respond, but paced away a short distance from the bench. He was obviously unhappy about Saavik's observation. Suddenly he turned sharply around and aimed a kick at one of the pillars. "Damn it! What '_friendship_' means to me and to T'Lemmi doesn't seem to be the same thing! She's going back to Vulcan and I'll never see her again – and you say, _Accept this_?" He fell silent and for the first time Saavik knew he was angry at her. She considered leaving him alone and returning to her quad, but saw that he was immediately contrite.

"I'm sorry, Saavik, _you're _not the Vulcan I'm mad at. And it probably won't do any good to get mad at T'Lemmi or her family. It's just that…" and he groped for words, "it's _not_ logical to choose a mate for someone, not when you spend time and effort to encourage her to think and learn and be independent. _I_ have more freedom to act for my future than she does! And I'm illogical and mixed-up and sometimes have trouble with the simplest class work!" He laughed ruefully. "I'll admit it: I halfway hoped she'd tell me that I had heard wrong, that it wasn't important, that she could choose anyone she wanted when the time came."

Saavik could not begin to try to explain Vulcan stubbornness to the human; if Tor did not know of this trait of theirs by now, he did not know Vulcans. But it seemed that he must know; that he also knew well that they could reconcile and accept many circumstances that caused them personal discomfort _if_ they were logical, because they must accept, because it was the Vulcan Way. Tor looked closely at Saavik.

"Saavik? Am I wrong to want to be with T'Lemmi? _Am I wrong?_"

"I do not know, Tor. I do not see 'wrong' in the situation, only inevitable developments… that are evidently making you unhappy."

"And if Stiel thinks I don't belong with his sister, then what do I say? I don't feel like being very diplomatic with him. I've known him as long as I've known T'Lemmi , and suddenly it's like I don't know anything about him or the way his mind works. He had a hell of a lot more to do with this mess than T'Lemmi wants to admit to me."

Again, Saavik had nothing to say. She wondered at Tor's indecision. Since they had met, she had thought him an even-headed human, one of the more level-thinking ones on Akadem. Now, his emotions rubbed raw, he was true-to-the-bone human, and the revelation bothered her.

He noticed her silence and apologized for imposing his troubles on her. As Saavik watched his long strides carry him across the Main, his tensed body, his head never once turning back toward her, she knew he was disappointed in her. Inside, she felt a rise of impatience. What had Tor expected? Rather reluctantly, she felt a wish to help him. But how, when she knew so little?

--

She contemplated putting the problem to Spock. Surely he would have an opinion on the normal Vulcan bonding procedure and on the degree of freedom, if any, Vulcan youths were allowed. Whether Spock would think it outside his proper concern to comment on the relationship between Tor and T'Lemmi – that was something Saavik did not know. At the moment, she was very aware of her own shortcomings, and did not know how she stood in Spock's regard.

But she would not again make the mistake of protecting herself at the expense of another. In a short letter she did finally describe the situation in general terms, so that her teacher would know the circumstances. Even as she dictated, Saavik wondered if she was becoming obsessed with personal trivia, and whether this made her less Vulcan…

--

Tor really wasn't looking for trouble. He had gone to the admin building after a morning class to see about clearing his computer account. Bureaucracy always annoyed him. He went through this every quarter, damn it. Having spent a good chunk of the morning filling online forms and explaining to the bored accounts clerk that his account was NOT supposed to be frozen, Tor decided to find lunch in the lounge among the other students. He didn't see anyone he knew well, and took his packaged roll and Vulcan salad to a small table. He heard his name spoken from almost directly behind him.

"Stiel." He acknowledged the Vulcan youth curtly. He wouldn't try to confront or insult him. It wouldn't work anyway; many humans had found the effort frustrating and humiliating.

Stiel fixed him with cold black eyes. He was one who would not use the word "friend" lest it be too un-Vulcan, but who _had_ shared good times with his sister and Tor here on Akadem. For this reason Tor felt real regret that the boy had taken such a bitter stand against him. Finally, the human could not endure the silence.

"You know, Stiel, I have been to Vulcan. I know your ways and things you respect and honor." He saw that he had the other's attention. "I have been honest in our relationship… and I've been honest, and honorable, with your sister."

"You have held totally impossible, unrealistic expectations toward her. If you are unable to see that fact, then it is indeed better for us not to associate."

"Crap! Where's the logic, where's the rightness of pressuring your sister to abandon her study plans and return home so soon, just to remove her from my presence… when _she_ has never objected to our friendship?" Tor would not permit himself either anger or tears in front of the frosty young Vulcan. Nor, he realized in a sort of silent moral triumph, would he mention Tesat, now or ever.

"There is no question of pressure. Our family has long had plans for both our educations. You cannot expect my father to change these plans because of _your _misconceptions. I regret that you had preconceived notions of what T'Lemmi would do in the future." He looked absolutely stony and unreadable. Tor knew that righteous-Vulcan look. Stiel rose from his seat. "You will excuse me."

Tor was left alone. He did not know, honestly, whether he should have mentioned Tesat and her rather incredible tale after all. Although he did not have reason to disbelieve her, it hardly seemed as if she could have been speaking about the same person.


	29. Chapter 29: Cuts and Splices

Chapter 29: Cuts and Splices

Mid-quarter examinations were taking place all over Akadem, for all students above second-year Lower, and below last-year Upper divisions. The youngest children were subject to more frequent evaluations. The more privileged seniors, while enjoying exemption from mid-quarters, were agonizing over their preparations for the grueling exit exams facing them in their next-to-last Quarter.

This day the libraries, the benches underneath the pavilions, the grass of the Main and other parks, the walkways and stairwells were populated with knots of mumbling and frantically obsessing students. Carinne Ramsey sought out her spot on the Jenner House roof. Saavik stayed in the room with her terminal. Neill followed her regular routine of room-to-library-to-class-to-room (and back again). Luine had gone back to classes recently but seemed to study even less than she had before. Holly came by to try to work with her every day, but was no match for her friend's depression. (Carinne had observed to Saavik that the other girl's presence seemed to help a little; in any case, Luine did not want Saavik's help, nor had she recently responded to the Vulcan's offers to play chess.)

To break the grimness of the day, most students welcomed the chance to crowd into the bars and coffee houses to mingle with friends they would ordinarily not see during the study crunch. When they gathered, almost anything was a better topic of conversation than modular physics, algebra, Denebian linguistics, or Arcturan computer patterns. So by lunchtime on a Wednesday, not quite two weeks after Tesat's acquittal, the news was all over the planet that her Inquiry Board was reconvening to hear new evidence.

"They've found the guy who tried to frame her!" Cranston Pike was the one who informed a packed table at the Grub, and as his voice carried rather well, no one in the place could avoid hearing. There was immediate interest as other conversations ceased.

Sshajaimajz Raxmi's gray features stretched with emotion. "How do you know? Gossip! Gossip! Let's have it!" The others laughed, but no one disagreed. Someone handed Cran a mug of Kentaur, and he perched on the corner of a table.

"Well, I heard it over at Faculty House… I kind of eavesdropped… well, it can't be a big secret if Dr. Brady was telling it to Dr. Shawe and Dr. Joe with me right there in the office, right? Brady was trying to track this guy down. Tesat thought he might've been a student here once, 'cause he looked familiar. They checked through the back files and matched this guy's holo from the records. He _was _here a couple of years ago, and just disappeared without finishing his year." One of the students flung a bagel at him; it glanced off his arm. "O.K.! O.K! I'm getting to it! They _didn't_ mention his name while I was listening. Anyway, you can bet Brady was excited. I don't know if they've found out where the guy went."

Kazaba DeMille raised an elegant hand to pet the symbiote she carried on her shoulder. It snuggled its tawny striped head into the hollow of her collarbone. 'Zaba said, "You've even got Oto interested. So, when does the new show start?"

Cran Pike shrugged; he did not know. "I want to know what's gonna happen to Komack. I bet they batch this hearing together with investigating _her_." This contribution came from Miller DeMott.

Pike added, "And you won't get _anyone_ on the faculty to admit they're really investigating Komack. But I don't see how they can avoid it. Too many people heard her admit her own scuzzy tricks. And that Romulan representative – Bar'ej? – he's after Committee to bring some kind of suit against Komack, for defamation of character. That's what I heard, anyway."

"She made it so obvious that she hates Tesat! I mean, when Saavik threatened to repeat what she was mumbling to herself up there…"

Miller's comment set them to rehashing the entire hearing, which was so much more interesting than talking about classes or exams. They speculated on the repercussions for Sarader Komack. Sapi Tul, an Andorian friend of Shaji's, ventured the opinion that any action against Komack would be taken behind the scenes, very discreetly, so as not to expose her to the scrutiny of students. "They don't just run a prof through the wringer, not like if it was a student. They'll treat Komack really gently, and it probably will not make much difference."

Pike disagreed. "Sapi, I can't see that happening. She's got a lot to answer for. The electronic surveillance. The computer tampering."

"Can they _prove_ that? I don't know how seriously the faculty took that business, not without lots of supporting documents. Brady had some of the records, but who knows?" The blue face was impassive; Sapi was skeptical about the chances of Komack's getting any real punishment. Others chimed in with cynical agreement, and verbal abuse of Dr. Komack.

"Well, let's wait. We might be surprised," Cran Pike said cheerfully. "I for one would love to see Tesat go one-on-one with Komack in cross-examination! I think this incident will be the one that finally makes the crap fly."

"I hope you're right. But I hear that whatever they decide to do, it will be a closed hearing." Shaji did not sound too upset about that: the planetary gossip system would ensure that everyone learned what happened the same day. A thin band at the second joint of its arm glowed and beeped softly. "Agghhhh, my next exam. Is anyone else doing one at 1300 hours?"

'Zaba straightened in her chair. "I wish I cared. Yes, I do have an oral in Tantrian physics, with Dr. Dru. It is _depressing_ to think how many lectures I have slept through this Quarter, and I am still at the head of the roster." She laughed and stretched out her arms, as if seeking the wings which her human physiology had, regrettably, not provided. Cran Pike sent another bagel her way, and she ducked more gracefully than he had. "I am going with Shaji. You groundlings can decide what will go out on the rumor line."

Pike grinned at her back as she floated out with her companion draped over her shoulder, with her gray friend by her side. He liked 'Zaba. She was brilliant and never let them forget it , but seemed to enjoy that fact that the more she slacked off, the better she performed academically. Akadem was a lot more fun because of beings like 'Zaba. He heard his own chronoband chime off as he had programmed it – for a dreadful bout of studying before his three-hour organic chemistry test.

"Anyone else? O.K., may the stars be with you." He hadn't had time to eat after all. A pity, but he'd get something later. Leaving the noisy Grub, Cranston Pike trotted the short distance across the grass to Delta. He realized that in some ways he was reacting like 'Zaba. He felt almost detached from the results of his exams. There was so much more coming up for him: the Star Fleet cadet examinations loomed in the middle of next Quarter… Cran whistled softly as he bounced up the steps to the third-story study center with its soundproof pods. Maybe, later, he'd go find 'Zaba and they'd paraglide together…

--

Tor Srimandan was glad but surprised that his group had drawn a human cadaver for his anatomy practical exam that afternoon. Sunek had not told the student teams which species they would be examined on; it was, after all, a very broad exo-anatomy course, and the pre-meds were expected to know details of the gross anatomy of eighteen different species. The Vulcan had assigned this male specimen to Tor and his team without a comment.

T'Lemmi was not one of his partners, but would be taking her exam in another part of the building. Tor was working this Quarter with Gaaru, a hollow-chested Mominat who always looked deathly ill but who was a perfectly healthy member of his species; and Daryann Teol, a Taffi girl who usually introduced herself as a "Martian" (which was true after a fashion: she had been hatched on that planet where her parents were on assignment). Tor reflected that for his partners this testing cadaver _was_ an exobiological specimen.

The three secured the floor clamps over the hoverjets of the gurney holding their "victim", who had been brought in a tech. Daryann observed rather sourly that Tor had an advantage over them in this exam.

"Hah! That's rich. You _know_ that Sunek is gonna ride my butt doubly hard, for that same reason.. Just wait, he's going to make me sweat for that 'advantage'."

The Taffi's amusement showed in ripples through her pink crest. Gaaru, as rockfaced as the ancient Sphinx, scanned through his notepad one more time. Then Sunek swept into the room, black-caped and austere. The students immediately put away all notes as he commanded attention and silence.

The exam was, as Tor had feared, brutal. For him, the Vulcan healer seemed to have reserved the most obscure and ambiguous problems. He felt the perspiration rolling down his face and neck as he bent over the dead figure – at least it was relatively fresh! – to point to this or that structure, somehow trying to relate what he knew from nice, clean computer simulations to the "real thing." Daryann and Gaaru got difficult questions, too, but none even approached the ones Tor had to field. In his mind, when he had a second to think, he wondered whether Sunek might just have just a _little_ grudge against him…but that would be un-Vulcan, illogical. No, this was all legit, nothing unfair about it, but, _oh, man_…

Sunek circulated among the dissection tables, setting new problems in identification, disappearing to the next table, returning almost before the unfortunate student had time to grope for an answer, never mixing up a single problem. In consideration for those who did not share his Vulcan constitution, the healer called a short break after only two hours.

Tor headed for the sink in the corner of the lab, threw up, and ran glorious amounts of cold water over his head and neck. He flopped onto a bench near "his" cadaver. His partners joined him after a little heaving of their own. Other groups milled about, expressing curiosity in each others' gruesome specimens.

"Oh, you've got a Terran," remarked a small, blondish Tellarite. "We've got one, too, a woman."

"Isn't that just dandy," Tor replied without enthusiasm. "Ours is a barrel of laughs." Hau'ri shrugged.

"If it makes you feel better, Jane and Miller and Sagil have a Tellarite." He turned his back, miffed, and went back to his table with great dignity.

Gaaru remarked, "He should not, should not, be so sensitive, no? Surely, there is not anything, anything to be sensitive about, hmm? Everyone gets cut up around here, around here." Tor had got used to the Mominat's habit of repeating phrases for emphasis – it carried over from the Momi tongue into Standard. He knew that it irritated Daryann beyond reason.

Glancing over to the cadaver tables, he saw Jane Guerdon still standing by hers, earnestly poking around inside the belly cavity of the dead Tellarite. No surprise, since Jane never had "down time", unlike even the workmaniac Vulcans. You had to know Janey. Tor suspected she must be part cyborg, or a clone; that was actually possible, since rumor had it that she had been raised in – and legally emancipated from – a biotech lab planet…

Sunek broke Tor's ruminations by summoning them all back for the remainder of the exam. Tor sighed. He took the resolution to _make_ T'Lemmi go out with him tonight – no excuses, since he would be just as tired as she was, having taken the same exam with Dr. Ting-xo. They would go out whether or not her damned Supervulcan brother liked it. He needed _her_ company, not anyone else's. Suddenly he realized that Gaaru was giving him an odd look. He must have uttered something bizarre.

"Come on, Terran dragtail. Hop, hop, hop to it. Here comes Sunek to dissect, dissect, dissect what's left of your brain."

--

Saavik had ambivalent feelings about her mid-Quarter poetry test. Dr. Folsom had set some comparative questions for the class: essays demanding "only" a good memory of class discussions and an ability to keep the many styles from becoming spaghetti in the mind. However, Folsom had also included a freestyle question, a writing assignment Saavik had been dreading. She had turned around in her consciousness all the philosophies of poetry and versification they had studied. The troublesome assignment: write a poem to address a point or idea expressed in a poet's works, in a style similar to that poet's. This might, Saavik conceded, be a legitimate way of gauging how much she had learned, but she had no visceral sympathy with poetry, no more than she had when she began the course. At least she _was_ allowed to select the poet whose style she was to mimic. Grimly she set to work.

It came to her, then. By the rules, she ought to select a poet from one of the cultures they had covered in the first half of the course. But she had her own idea…

…The previous day Saavik had received a small parcel from Spock. Unlike standard packages that came processed via planetary or starbase post stations, this bore no computer-generated holo-labels. Instead, the address was carefully and boldly lettered in Standard and Vulcan scripts, the characters spare and obviously done with ease born of long practice. Saavik sat on her bed to open it. Carinne was brushing out her curls – now brown – and let herself down on the bed opposite.

"Package from home?" She smiled at her Vulcan roommate. Carinne had found out from Saavik (so far) only that she had neither parents nor siblings; and of course she knew that Saavik's teacher kept in regular contact with, and she with him.

Saavik looked up and seen on Carinne's bed a somewhat larger parcel; she received these rather frequently. Already in her few months here, Saavik had learned the importance of _family_ to human children, rather different from what it meant to Vulcan or Romulan young. She remembered some of the things Carinne had received in earlier packages: little keepsakes, articles of hairwear, preserved goods, crumbled baked goods. Nothing like that could be expected from Spock, she knew.

Pulling the tabs of the packaging, she withdrew the slim books, two volumes bound in the archaic style. A recorded letter had been included with them, which Saavik put aside for reading in privacy. She ran her fingers along the rough brown bindings and read the Vulcan script: The Mind in the Desert… Final Sayings. Two collections of the works of Surak. There was unexpected emotion, a strange feeling in the middle of her chest, which she could not relate immediately to any particular thought… great respect for Surak, the honor of owning some of his works? … or a more personal, direct feeling towards the one who had sent them to her? She called herself back to order and opened Final Sayings. She read, thoughtfully, the first item - a poem of Surak! It _was_ poetry; poetry that came from a logical mind and sacrificed none of the logic, for all that it was beautiful.

For the rest of the evening she thought about that poem and the others in the books, interspersed with short sayings and some longer prose that seemed to be speeches of Surak to his followers of long-gone days. Carinne had received some of those famous cookies which she claimed were baked by her mother and her aunt. Saavik accepted one, enjoying the strange spicy flavors. She inspected the other items her roommate displayed from her package – quite ordinary things, they added to the feeling of "home" for Carinne. For a moment, Saavik wondered hew _she_ would feel if ever she had a real home, if she would even recognize it.

Carinne went to study with Miller later on, and Saavik read more in Surak's books. And she played Spock's letter on her terminal.

It was, as always, reassuringly precise. He acknowledged receipt of her letters, made routine inquiries into her health, and offered encouragement for the period of examinations he knew was upon her. He did not refrain from comment on the story she had related to him.

"Saavik, you have chosen Vulcan education and life, to emulate and assimilate. Show that training in yourself, _to yourself_, even when no one else looks on. The right or wrong related to the temptation to withhold the useful information can best be evaluated by facing your reasons for wanting to, and by looking at what you did when the moment of truth came.

"If you motive was illogical, or born from a desire to hurt the young woman in question, you are the one who knows. Accept the illogic of it, and move on from there. If the end result of your thought processes was the exoneration of an innocent person, then you acted logically and well. Do not, however, expect thanks for this. Do not expect this Romulan girl to see _your_ logic. It may be impossible for you see hers as well. Indeed, I think that she may consider you an adversary and a betrayer of her values."

Saavik marveled at this. Spock knew more about Romulans than she had expected… as he seemed to know more about anything else he could name. And yet… she had not told Spock about hiding her Romulan heritage from Tesat. In a previous letter she had alluded to the inner shame of not being a full Vulcan, but perhaps Spock did not guess the depth of that shame?

Yet as she read on, she saw that perhaps he did.

"If you perceive as a reason for distrusting or disliking this Romulan, your own Romulan heritage and your efforts to subdue its more emotional and destructive facets, do not regard this as unique. Do not see it as a sign that you have failed to be a Vulcan. I have sometimes felt great unease when with humans, precisely because I knew that what was in their makeup was also in mine; the knowledge was often unbearable to me in my younger years, and led me to despise them. Yet I continued to pursue my career among them."

Saavik knew the outcome well. It had been a source of perplexity when she had first known Spock, and it remained so now – when Spock would allude to his own life, split between Vulcan and human goals and expectations. He had not chosen to be exclusively Vulcan, as his father would have wished, but instead had become a vital part of a starship crew, the only Vulcan among them, subjecting himself to constant psychic bombardment from their emotions, subjecting himself in fact to the authority of a human commander.

Already, in those years Saavik had spent aboard _Stanek_, the adventures of Spock and his captain James T. Kirk were hard to ignore. A very popular documentary series had detailed their voyages of discovery, and there was talk about a dramatic entertainment series for children to follow. Saavik had asked her teacher if it had not been uncomfortable and difficult to deal with an illogical commanding officer and crewmates, and Spock had carefully explained. Words like _loyalty_ and _duty_ she understood, or thought she did. The concepts were consistent with the pursuit of logical solutions, where the loyalty was given and the duty was performed because it all worked towards a logical and desirable end. However, when Spock spoke of _friend _and _brother_ and explained the bond between captain and officers on the basis of personal trust, she had trouble grasping this. Spock had told her of missions during which his own judgment had indicated one path to take; his captain had led – and Spock had followed – down another path because of a "hunch" or "intuition". The results, Spock claimed, were usually satisfactory to the Federation.

This, she had decided, was the hardest part of going into her hoped-for career. True, Saavik saw now that humans and other species could live together; she knew more about their traits, both admirable and aversive. True, she had learned that each species had a contribution to make, each had its source of pride. However, to become like Spock, to be able to balance logical training with the wisdom to know just when to follow a human's hunch, demanded an acceptance of self which Saavik the Vulcan, Saavik the Romulan, just did not have yet.

Spock had said what he wanted to say in the letter, and he did not belabor the points. He mentioned the works of Surak and noted several passages that might be useful for meditation. His closing was unsubtle and unadorned. Yet Saavik caught herself regretting that the letter was over, that there were no further words to be heard in that deep, even voice… She turned back to her poetry question…

And she was aware now, in the present reality of her poetry test, that she had outlined on her screen, from memory, one of the poems from Surak's The Mind in the Desert. Vulcan literature was part of the course for the second half of the Quarter, not part of the material on the test, but – there it was, "The Sage and the Grain of Sand", on her screen, ready for comments. Her knowledge of Surak's life and philosophies was fair, probably better than that of her fellow-students, but poorer than that of Dr. Folsom. She decided to put down her own thoughts about it anyway.

It was demanding work. Even more demanding was the task of imitating the great man's style. Perhaps it was presumptuous of her to try. She selected one point to respond to, and composed in the Vulcan style a short verse, first in Vulcan, transcribed in Standard writing, then in a freehand Standard translation...

It seemed to come to her logically if not easily or painlessly. Surak's perceptions of his world had come during a time of violence and disruption on his planet; Saavik knew only that part of Vulcan represented by Spock, the scientists on _Stanek_, and the faculty and students here on Akadem, all civilized beings. They would have seen the Vulcans of Surak's time almost as an alien race. And still… "The Sage" had caused a sympathetic vibration inside Saavik when she had first read it. Now she imagined a matching, harmonic vibration as her own poem developed beneath Surak's on the screen. She thought of Surak and realized that she was envisioning him with Spock's face. Absurd, illogical. Saavik turned all her attention to finishing her exam. It was disgraceful not to concentrate on one's work… most un-Vulcan.


	30. Chapter 30: Komack at Bay

Chapter 30: Komack at Bay

India Semmelweiss wanted to expedite the new hearing and so declared it closed to spectators. "The evidence will be heard from faculty and students as needed," she stated on the planet-wide news log. "The record will be made public afterwards." She reviewed the actions and testimonies that had been brought to the Board during both phases of Tesat's trial very briefly and without interruption from the other panel members. They only nodded in agreement as she outlined those portions of the testimony that related to Dr. Sarader Komack and her conflict with the Romulan.

Tesat's questioning by Howard Brady was re-heard, laying bare once more Komack's computer maneuvers. Both Tesat and the professor were present: Komack wore iron-gray military-style attire that made her seem (if that was possible) even more grim and iron-hard; the student appeared in a most uncharacteristic garb – a loose, patterned dress that made her seem frail, pale, and most un-Romulan.

"Dr. Komack," Semmelweiss confronted her, "what do you have to respond to the charge by the student Tesat and the advocate speaking on her behalf, that you on numerous occasions did place a surveillance program on her private communications? That you did, without authorization, interfere with her database access codes and cause false and misleading transactions to appear on her user record?"

Komack responded, "You have the answers which I gave at that time. Howard Brady asked me those questions at the trial and I answered them. It was, in my perception, a matter of security, and I did what I did in good faith."

That set the tone for the entire proceeding. It was not to be a pleasant or reconciling process; obviously, Sarader Komack's actions were going to be defended to the last.

Semmelweiss and her colleagues reviewed the depositions from over a dozen students who declared that they had heard Dr. Komack say she was going to see that Tesat was "fixed", one way or the other. Some were students in Komack's advanced courses and were taking risks by being there to testify; the instructor seemed visibly shaken that they had had the temerity to step forward. Even greater was her consternation when Shulamith Kessi, her student secretary, came to reveal some additional indiscretions.

Lu Ting-xo drew from the girl the fact that Sarader Komack had instituted surveillance on a number of students over the past several Quarters, and that their number included Tesat. The Inquiry Board members discussed quietly among themselves and then advised Shulamith to speak specifically only of Tesat's case. She could dictate the particulars of the other instances later and get them to the Board before tomorrow morning's hearing.

Shulamith was not, in her own mind, a courageous person; although to work for Komack presumably took nerve and a tough hide. She began rather hesitantly to recount the remarks she had overheard in Dr. Komack's office, incautiously made in her presence, and told that several times while doing routine work in the office, she had seen printed lists of student computer codes with marks next to some of the names. No, she had not seen whether Tesat's name had been among them. But the import of the remarks was anti-Romulan and _specifically_ directed against the lone Romulan on the planet. The members of the Board asked her some additional questions on the length of her employment with Komack and her own opinion of her boss.

She looked up at T'Eilibit, who had posed this question. "Ma'am, I work for her. I don't admire her. I believe she holds grudges against some students, without any reason. You'll remember that I was nominated for the Inquiry Board at first, and refused. That was because I was sure Dr. Komack would try to use my position there to pressure me against Tesat."

"That is a serious charge." This from the other Vulcan, the senior student Stebit. Shulamith nodded.

"That's how I saw it, Stebit. And I'll stick by it."

The Board thanked her for her candor. Next to appear, in a room that was tense despite the absence of spectators, was Howard Brady. He was asked to tell the Board what relevant information he had.

He glanced at Komack just long enough to let her know he was now in control. "As you will recall, during the hearing Tesat stated that she was contacted by a man named 'Avennen', who was also connected with the late Gien Kai-Mekelen, whom Tesat was briefly suspected of killing. At that time, no one else could confirm the existence of Avennen. However," and he paused for effect while India Semmelweiss and her panel waited. "However, since that time Tesat and her defense team have been comparing her sketch with the pictures of any students, former students, or other young men who have been on Akadem within the past year.

"We have, I believe, been successful in identifying the man who went under the name of 'Avennen'." With that, Brady produced from a large rectangular folder a flexible plastosheet and a sketch pad. "I have the sketch, and the holocopies from the Akadem master files." He handed the hard copies to the student runner who took the items to the Board's table. There the items were laid on a magnifying viewer that cast the images on the opposite wall side by side.

The resemblance between the two men was striking. From Tesat's unartful sketch alone, the panel had not previously been able to recognize the face; but the features matched so well that several of the faculty members present drew in their breath sharply. But this was nothing compared with the reaction of Sarader Komack, who had turned grayer and nearly started from her chair.

"What is it, Sar?" Semmelweiss asked with alarm. "Are you unwell?"

Komack recovered herself. "I am fine, thank you. My concern is that this particular testimony and evidence – so-called – has precious little to do with the subject of this hearing – which is to discredit me." Her voice showed that she was badly upset, though. She sat back to await Brady's next move, trying to reestablish her façade.

The man did not allow her the time. "Ma'am," he addressed Semmelweiss, "bear with me a moment and I will show my colleague what all this has to do with her." Receiving India's nod, he continued.

"The man whom Tesat has identified as Avennen is in fact Steven Brucker, a former student on Akadem, who left nearly seven Quarters ago. From various reactions I see in this room, I assume that some of you remember him. School records show that he was in courses taught by Drs. Semmelweiss, T'Eilibit, and…Sarader Komack. In fact, he took several courses under her." There was a stir as he revealed this, but everyone was still waiting for the connection Brady had promised to reveal.

"According to official records, Steven Brucker had not been back on Akadem since leaving here as a student. However, I would like to ask Shulamith and also Bradley Franks, both students present in this hearing, to step forward. I asked Shulamith not to discuss this aspect of the case earlier, but to save it for this part of the testimony."

Shulamith resumed the speaker's chair and told of being in another part of the office earlier in the Quarter, working on another faculty member's terminal while his student aide was ill. She had come back to Dr. Komack's office just in time to hear her finishing a conversation with a man who was emerging from the office. She had never seen him before, but from cues of body language and tone of voice she had gathered that he and Komack were acquainted.

"And who was the man, Shulamith?" Gray Timor asked, already suspecting what her answer would be.

"It was the man in this holo – Steven Brucker."

"Are you certain?" Lu frowned at her. In the sudden silence after the girl's remark, every head was turned toward Dr. Sarader Komack. Shulamith nodded.

"I never forget a face." She saw the look Dr. Komack directed at her and knew her job was history. That knowledge was almost a relief.

Semmelweiss asked, "When exactly was this meeting?"

The girl named the date of Gien Kai-Mekelen's disappearance, and specified the late afternoon, about 1700 hours. The Board asked her to step down and called up Bradley Franks. The small human, who did not even look his nine years in that large room, sat up as straight as he could and kept his hands folded in his lap with great dignity.

Gray Timor did not seem to know quite how to begin questioning such a young child, so he adopted a rather patronizing tone. "Now, young man, what have _you_ got to tell us about all this?"

Bradley stared at him until the silence became uncomfortable. Just as Howard Brady was about to say something to encourage him, Franks explained, "I saw Brucker, the man in the holo, that same day, the day Luine's brother disappeared." His face showed that he had not yet become as blasé as some of the older students in talking about this case; he liked Luine and had himself been affected with nightmares after the murder. "I was returning a game I'd borrowed from Master Hakat, and I was in a hurry because I was going to a chess appointment with Dr. Thrav. So I went up to the office corridor to leave the tape and just as I was on my way in, I saw this guy leaving. It was Brucker."

Timor took all this in; the earnest, precise way Bradley talked, the import of the identification he had given. Since no one else on the Board seemed to want to ask Brad any questions, Timor thanked him and bade him step down. Now only Tesat was set to speak.

The Romulan girl did not repeat any of the testimony she had given earlier. That had already been entered into the record of this new inquiry, and its impact was bound to be devastating enough for Komack. Instead, she told briefly of recognizing in the holo of Steven Brucker not only the man known to her as Avennen, but also a young man who had attempted to molest her as she left Zephyr's one evening three years before. Again, there was an intake of breath around the room. "I defended myself adequately and was not harmed," she stated. "I did not see much of his face since there was little light on the walk. But after seeming this holo, I remembered that part of his face quite well." Her voice was harsh but not out of control. Sarader Komack looked skeptical.

"So far, no one has tried to produce this mysterious Avennen," she taunted, and immediately Howard Brady turned on her, infuriated by the woman's gall.

"We have evidence that you not only _knew_ this man, but had a discussion with him on the same day he approached Tesat to close the supposed 'deal' for the papers Kai-Mekelen was carrying! And the next day _you_ came forward with your story about the espionage… on the authority of an informer you did not wish to name to this Board! Dr. Semmelweiss, I'd like to ask Dr. Komack if the man who gave her the 'information' about Tesat and the _secrets,_" and he gave the word a sarcastic twist, "was the same man both Shulamith and Franks saw emerging from her office."

Komack had again turned pale. It seemed as though she would refuse to answer. She looked around her, a woman used to exercising power and authority, who had not grown up in a Star Fleet officer's home for nothing; and who appeared not to realize the distaste her tactics had aroused in colleagues and students alike. She had never cared what a student thought of her. She cared that she should consistently _do the right thing, _and what she had done in this case was right. Now, faced with the question, she tried to brush it aside. India Semmelweiss, however, was having none of it.

"Dr. Komack, I believe that is a fair question. Dr. Brady is waiting for an answer and, I admit, so am I."

She was caught. She knew it now. Komack opened her steel-trap mouth just long enough to snap, "It _was _a former student of mine. As far as I am concerned, what he told me was the truth and I revealed this truth to this Inquiry Board." More than this she would not say. Almost as an anticlimax, Brady admitted that Avennen/Brucker had not yet been located. Inquiries had been made with the deep-space shipping line for which he had last worked. There the trail grew more obscure: Brucker had vanished from his last ship during its most recent planetfall, about two weeks before he turned up on Akadem, and had not been seen since by either his captain or his shipmates. All this had been found out by dint of vigorous research on Brady's and Kyllie's part.

Semmelweiss drew the hearing to a close and thanked all the witnesses for appearing. Now the Board would discuss among themselves. At the moment, to judge by the murmurs in the room, it did not look good for Sarader Komack. Brady, Tesat, and the student witnesses left together. Komack stood alone for a moment, then stormed out of the room. The door hissed closed behind her.

"Dreadful, dreadful." Howard Brady found himself shaking. "I get the feeling she is _not_ going to be pleasant company in the faculty meeting tomorrow!"

One of the students in the advanced Federation History course muttered, "Nothing to what she's going to do to us grading the exam." He and his classmates had taken her mid-Quarter the day before. "She's been in a foul mood for weeks."

Brady made a mental note to be sure to see that none of these students suffered for their testimony, nor that any of them would be forced to continue with Komack as an advisor if they did not want to. He had seen a lot of young men and women come and go in his years on Akadem, and had learned to admire the maturity they developed here, especially for handling times of crisis. These kids had stood up to a pretty formidable faculty member; he knew she would _not_ be one to let it pass. He had become concerned about Sar's behavior lately but had been genuinely shocked to find out the extent of her paranoia. He looked around at the group of students walking along with him, realized that they were heading towards the Grub (herd instinct?), and was warmed by the fact that they seemed to take for granted that he was coming along.

--

Tesat found herself in a position she had never before enjoyed – but perhaps that was not the word she would have chosen for it, either. She was suddenly not an alien, not a curiosity, not the object of a moment's notoriety. She was being treated as a _bona fide_ hero, the underground anti-Komack sentiment breaking out into the open even among cooler Upper students – the ones who were supposed to be above it all. She did not know whether to be pleased at the overtures of friendship from humans and other species, or to be appalled at their fickleness.

In the past weeks she had begun to readjust to a nearly normal life after her trial: going back to class, meeting curious looks with an even, gray stare. Then, this new hearing – and the whole thing was given fresh fuel.

Congregating with other students was hardly what Tesat wanted to do now. But it was a beautiful afternoon and not too hot, and she had decided to brave the crowd at one of the frequent sports events the students created to defuse some of the tensions of the exam period. This particular event was a tackle-soccer match featuring the Science Delta (Chemistry) and the Science Beta (Biomedical) Middle and Upper students. Its madness took up the whole vast area of the Main. The lawn loungers and the blanket makeout artists had been banished for the afternoon, making room for the students who milled and thronged, whooping and catcalling as was appropriate during the match. Some of the more enthusiastic onlookers even threw themselves into the game to help out their chosen team and were absorbed.

Tesat found a good observation spot but was soon surrounded by people who made cordial remarks and conveyed to her how much they "admired her guts". She supposed she should be amused but only felt annoyance. Inside the melee on the field she noticed Tor Srimandan, and he winked at her…The fact that he did this just after he had skidded across the sidelines after being tackled did not lend any dignity to the situation. For a moment Tesat had the urge to laugh. Tor picked himself up and rejoined the game. Tesat decided to cheer for his side just for good manners.

Soon she sensed a familiar presence. Her roommate's wild head of orange hair bobbed at the level of her left shoulder. "Hey." Rufia tended to talk out of the side of her mouth like the gangsters in her favorite old Terran vids. "How's the savior of the independent, non-aligned student bloc?" Tesat responded with a cool lift of one of her slanted brows. "Aw, be cool, Tessie, it's a done deal. _Everyone_ knows what's gonna happen to Komack. And _you_ did it, kid; _you're_ the one who's never been afraid of her."

The Romulan had to admit that this was true. And several people on either side of her had heard Rufia's somewhat dramatic statement and smiled in her direction. Gauni d'Iste, the pale-violet Paynant, called out to her, loud enough for half the crowd on that side of the Main to hear, "Hey, Tesat! You've done us all a favor!" Others chimed in.

She pushed her way out through the crush of students, fuming and gritting her teeth. "Damn! I was not doing favors! Rufia… are you coming?" Her roommate followed without hesitation.

"Didn't want to watch the ol' tackle-soccer anyhow. What's the matter now? Gauni meant it, you know." She stopped, and Tesat halted, too, though it was obvious that she would rather have run nonstop back to the dormitory.

"Face it, girl, you're not the easiest person to be friends with. Not a surprise, huh? Well, you ought to get used to it, you're a hero. Why not enjoy it while you have it?" She tossed her hair impatiently, shaking her head at Tesat's social obtuseness.

Tesat was continually surprised that Rufia was still, after six Quarters as her roommate, genuinely her friend, genuinely interested in seeing Tesat succeed in her relationships with others. Now, as Rufia almost stamped her foot in frustration at Tesat's attitude, the Romulan believed she actually saw tears in the other girl's eyes…

"Rufia, I do enjoy an honest friendship. But I do not wish to be used to represent the vicarious revenge of everyone else who hates that witch Komack." Tesat spoke angrily, but Rufia could see her face, and knew it was rage in general, and not aimed at her.

"Let us go back to the quad," Tesat said, resuming her large strides. "I shall cook _dalkies_ tonight." She left the image dangling as bait, and her roommate took it as she had known she would.

For Rufia had become devoted to the Romulan delicacy, which she decided were a kind of alien blini stuffed with raw lizard meat and seasoned with the hottest pepper in the known universe. On Akadem as at any institutional school, the food students prepared themselves in their room on completely illegal open-flame cookers always tasted the best, though Tesat did not indulge very often. She was pleased at Rufia's reaction and almost smiled.

"What are we waiting for? Let's go, woman, let's go! Make enough for the whole floor!"

"That is hardly likely. The smell will drive half the floor outdoors." Tesat knew this from experience.

"More for us, then." Rufia grinned. "There's just no understanding these weak-livered Federation races, is there?"

The older girl wondered how she would tolerate life on Akadem without at least a few humans like Rufia. "There is a great and glorious future for you in the Empire, should you wish to come and open a computer center, perhaps on my home planet Helva. The Empire would never be the same." Tesat was grateful for moments of humor. There had been so few lately.


	31. Chapter 31: No Personal Questions

Chapter 31: No Personal Questions

Saavik went for her conference with Sunek, Macmillan, and Nureg Dabourian the day after the Inquiry Board's latest decision, a recommendation of censure and reprimand against Dr. Sarader Komack for "conduct unbecoming a member of a Federation school faculty; violation of privacy and civil rights of a student or students; deliberate misconduct and perjury" – and for undermining the atmosphere of learning, cordiality, tolerance, and personal freedom for which Akadem existed. It was the subject of practically every conversation, face to face and on e-logs. It was all Saavik had heard all day.

What she had also noticed was a certain strange look she was receiving from other students, and she knew it had something to do with this case. Dabourian at least was not one of these, and talked pleasantly and courteously with her in the Faculty House office until the arrival of Sunek and Drusilla Macmillan.

The conference itself went routinely, as the three advisors spoke with Saavik about her next Quarter's work. She had no complaints about her present curriculum: in her eyes, students who spent precious time and energy griping about the academic work were simply being immature and dramatic. Saavik's concentration during this session was on the ever-enigmatic Sunek, who up till now had said little to her. Macmillan's inquiries were predictable, Dabourian's questions as well: any personal problems? Roommates and quadmates satisfactory? Macmillan added that Saavik's instructors had given only positive comments, and that no one had voiced any concerns about her relationships with other students. Then she remarked casually, "I imagine that the part you had in Tesat's trial disrupted your schedule and the rhythm of your life somewhat. I hope that you were able to adjust as needed."

Saavik suppressed her feelings. This was really her private affair, and she felt it was inappropriate for the Triad to bring up. "My work is current, Dr. Macmillan. I see no reason –" She stopped as the advisor held up a placating hand.

"All right. It is true that there are no indications to the contrary. I was merely checking. Sometimes a thing like that _does_ upset a student's routine," she said drily, as if to have even _thought_ such a thing about a Vulcan was the acme of stupidity. Sunek's eyes bored into Saavik and she found she could not tear her gaze away. There was evidently something he wished to probe… later.

Macmillan sensed that Saavik would say no more at this time. Sometimes, with Vulcan students, these sessions went a little _too_ well: the student had no complaints, no difficulties, no worries, no – no – no. A nice case of depression, a fight with a roommate, a love rivalry, a bitter complaint against an "unfair" instructor – these problems often gave her days a kind of dark comic relief. _That's damned unfair of you,_ Drusilla Macmillan scolded herself; _most of these kids really are very well-adjusted, considering their age and their distance from home._ Vulcans were just acting in character, as were Tellarites, humans, Deltans… just people. Briskly, she suggested a further conference period nearer the end of this Quarter. "All looks fine, Saavik. Thank you."

Sunek spoke up then. "Saavik, you will stay and speak with me." His tone was just below absolute command, and the girl inclined her chin slightly in acknowledgment. The healer assured the others, "This is not concerning anything within the Triad's scope." To take such a matter outside the conference would have been a violation of the spirit of the Triad system. Macmillan, thinking it might be something to do with Saavik's music lessons, excused herself. Nureg Dabourian gave her usual dignified farewell salute and left also.

The Vulcan healer sat across from Saavik, who remained absolutely still, meeting the man's eyes steadily. As on the _Stanek_ Spock had represented all of Vulcan to the impressionable young girl, so now this most powerful of Vulcans on Akadem stood for all that their culture signified to themselves and the galaxy. Sunek's look was one that could chill most people into recognition of the illogic and ridiculousness of their existence.

He now addressed her not in the Vulcan tongue but in Standard. "Saavik. One does not have to tell a Vulcan what is and is not Vulcan. These things are taught to our children before they are old enough to associate with adults." His yellowed skin was stretched taut over the framework of his face, giving it a skull-like appearance. The words dropped like pebbles of ice. "I was given to understand by your teacher Spock that you were fully prepared to undertake life at this school."

Was this a reproach to her academic capabilities? That was hardly possible, after what Macmillan had just said. Was it a criticism of Spock's teaching and guidance? Saavik quelled the anger mounting from deep within her. _When angry, take that second breath_, Spock had said… Grimly she replied, "Tell me where my studies have failed or been deficient, Master. I shall certainly correct myself."

"You deliberately misunderstand. Had there been any deficit in your _academic_ performance, I would have mentioned it in the conference. I have no right or intention of asking you personal questions, either. I merely observe that there have been… incidents, during which your self-discipline as a Vulcan could be called into doubt."

She could not believe what she was hearing. No personal questions, indeed! She took a deep breath - the _third_ one - and slowed her heart rate. Spock had taught her the tradition of respect for the wise and educated, and for those who shared that education with others. She had taken more than her share of discipline and correction from her mentor, and had not resisted or resented honest criticism. But this was too outrageous, and she would tell Sunek so.

"Sunek, I honor your position and I honor our Vulcan heritage in doing so." She chose her next words carefully. "If there is a personal complaint about my conduct, I must know it to correct it." Here voice was a challenge. The healer remained facing her like a yellowed marble image.

"Correction will not be necessary. I do not accuse you of anything." His stare held contempt despite his words. Saavik knew that it was impossible for them to read each other's thoughts, but had an eerie feeling that Sunek knew her to the core, and it frightened her as physical danger never had. He let the silence echo… and then stunned her. "A Vulcan has the right to personal secrets but not to deceive others. I do not think I need to explain myself. I have no more to say. You may go."

It was totally counter to Vulcan manners, but Saavik pulled herself to her feet before Sunek rose, and did not take his dismissal quietly. "_I_ have something to say," she answered him, desperately keeping even the whisper of emotion from her voice. "I _have_ upheld my training, here on Akadem. I do not know what reproach you make to me."

When Sunek did not answer, when he swept past her without dignifying her statement with a reply, she felt as desolate as at any time since her days on Hellguard. To be completely honest, she _knew_ what reproach Sunek – or any Vulcan – could make to her! It was no secret to anyone who had been at Tesat's hearing, that she had behaved strangely, had shown hesitancy, even secretiveness – traits unexpected in a Vulcan. She had _almost_ withheld the truth and somehow it showed. What exactly did Sunek know about her? She was in a downward spiral of self-doubt. She pounded the table impotently. Was this part of her imagination? (Did she _have_ one?) When students had spoken with her since the hearings, did they have these unspoken questions, these deadly speculations?

She was shocked and ashamed when she realized how long she had been standing in the empty office, shaking, emotionally augmented and self-involved. Saavik dismissed these fantasies as close to paranoia, an affliction unknown to Vulcans but frequently enough encountered in Romulans. She left the office, glad that no one was about. Drusilla Macmillan's door was shut and the _Occupied_ panel glowed, but there was no indication that she had heard the exchange between her and Sunek.

This must end somehow, soon. Saavik _must_ find out how much the Vulcan knew. She had been willing to ignore this question all along, but now she must confront it. She must balance her emotional levels and pay no attention to the reactions of fellow-students. There were perfectly logical reasons for their curiosity, although she preferred anonymity. She would try to talk with Carinne about it tonight. Perhaps it was even better to allow the whole connection with Tesat to die on its own… to pretend never to notice her again.

In the corridor outside the offices Saavik turned towards the exit, aware of the quiet in the building. Since students were still in exams, many among the faculty who were not proctoring had seized the chance for a few days off. Many of the junior and "irregular" instructors with offices in Faculty House were off-complex today. Saavik preferred this silence, and found that the odd, muffled echoes in Akadem's buildings when they were unoccupied resonated with her own inner silences. The abrupt, emotionally violent encounter with Sunek had left her bruised, and the beginnings of a recovery from self-doubt (which she had felt since Spock's last communication) were shattered.

She was barely able to keep from jumping when a voice behind her called out, "Saavik! Would you walk with me?" The flowing gown lent Nureg Dabourian the otherworldly air of a figure from pre-Federation legends.

"You are following me." She was not pleased at the idea that her student advisor had possibly witnessed any part of the disastrous exchange in the office, perhaps from a concealed position.

Dabourian shook her head. "No, not at all, Saavik. I went to speak with Dr. Gur and as I came out, I saw you ahead of me." She drew up alongside the Vulcan girl as they exited the building. "You didn't say whether or not you'd walk with me." She did not seem at all offended by Saavik's abruptness.

"It is all right." Dabourian lived in Jenner House, on another floor, and although they rarely saw each other except at conferences and occasionally at mealtimes, Saavik had respect for her and saw in the dark-skinned young woman a person who did not need disguises and pretenses to survive in this galaxy. "I ask your pardon if I was rude."

Nureg Dabourian smiled. "Each of us has her 'days', Saavik, no matter what our species. My father used to say that the one thing worse than a changeable woman was a perfect one."

Saavik did not think much of this masculine philosophy. To her, the ancient – not yet dead – tendency of human males to denigrate the female character was illogical, wasteful of feminine resources and talent. But she saw that her companion was really laughing at this idea, as one would expect from a truly free person. Dabourian had told her once that she was Terran/Arabian by background though born on a deep space station, and that her people were itinerant traders working from small family spacecraft, just as her distant ancestors had traded from camel and truck caravans in Earth's subtropical deserts. But Nureg was on track to be a biochemist, quite a source of pride to her father, who did not care that it was a daughter and not a son who was responsible for the family's possible future rise in the galaxy.

Nureg had not asked Saavik any personal questions, just walked in amiable silence by her side, and it was this that made Saavik decide to speak. She stopped, forcing Dabourian to do the same, turning to her. "Dabourian," she began, "will you tell me if I misinterpret human behavior?"

"Of course. Though I imagine _anything_ you observe about a people as a whole will be true about _some_ of them in particular." She was puzzled but waited for Saavik to tell her more.

Saavik did not mention Sunek's cryptic accusations (those had to do with a matter of personal shame, only relevant among Vulcans), but recounted her impression that others were paying her too much attention lately. They stood on the walk between the Faculty House and Science Epsilon; not too many students were outside because the sky had been threatening rain all afternoon, and rains on Akadem were legendary for their duration and intensity, on the rare occasion of a real storm. Dabourian listened gravely.

"I can be honest with you, Saavik; your testimony at the trial _has_ intrigued many people. Everyone says you helped in getting Tesat acquitted, and on the whole that is what the attention is for. You know, this is a funny place. There are about two dozen basic racial types from about fifty or sixty planetary systems. Hardly a homogeneous place!

"But we spend so much time together that without being aware, we've turned into a huge family, with all the gossiping and little family secrets and unsaid code meanings. We all get so used to it… life almost gets routine. So, when something _really_ different happens, we go a little crazy. A murder, with a student implicated – that's different. So of course everyone is interested. Why not?"

Saavik tightened her lips. "The human fascination with crime and scandal…"

"I guess. Like I said, we're a big family that loves its family gossip. You could see that, couldn't you? And, as a second bit of intrigue, an espionage charge. It's a classic setup: a prof with a grudge and some deep-set prejudices, a student who won't take it lying down…"

"I did not have anything to do with that," Saavik pointed out. "There were other witnesses."

"But _you_ were the only one who could corroborate the most important contention Tesat made: that she had turned down that sleazy offer, flatly and honestly. I do think the Inquiry Board might have cleared her anyway if you hadn't said what you did, but it might have taken longer and been less definite."

The Vulcan remembered vividly how Tesat had reacted to having her oath made public. "I do not think that Tesat is thankful for that, Dabourian."

"No, I can see that," the human answered thoughtfully. "But to everyone else, that made you just as interesting as Tesat, or Komack, or even the mysterious Avennen!" She came to the point. "If you think people have questions about you, it is probably because they are surprised you understand Romulan and that you knew what was meant by the oath Tesat spoke. It _is_ a pretty exotic topic."

Saavik did not possess enough self-detachment to be able to see the irony in this last statement. _Everything_ about Akadem might seem exotic to someone raised on an isolated planet, among one race of people. Romulan strangeness was merely a function of the fact that there was only one here at Akadem. She could not deny the truth of what Dabourian had said. "I have learned a little of several galactic languages." She could not lie outright by saying that she had learned Romulan in a classroom program rather than growing up hearing it … "Is that all the reason for the other students' improper curiosity?"

Dabourian shrugged, as if giving up on ever knowing what _anyone_ really thought. "Saavik, it's that, and other things, too. I've heard some of the Vulcan students mention that you are not quite what they expect in a Vulcan, you are not cast in their mold. The humans don't know about that, of course, but if you ask me, you are about as Vulcan as the others, and that's a compliment, by the way."

"I thank you. It is. I was not brought up on Vulcan, and that does affect certain social habits." This at least was true. Dabourian would accept this, but Saavik was still making every effort to conceal her disturbance at what she had heard. She remembered some of the odd looks, since the first week of her time here, from Vulcans like T'Lili and T'Lemmi and Stiel. Again she felt that there was a visible mark somewhere on her person, some difference in her stance or her aura that identified her as "not a real Vulcan". To Dabourian she knew she looked perfectly normal. And she knew the human _had_ put her finger on the reason for Saavik's discomfort.

They had started walking again. The wind was rising. "I don't know if I've addressed your questions," Dabourian said, "so I'll just add that it probably takes more than a couple of Quarters' worth of exposure to get used to human ways… if that's any consolation. By next Quarter, the whole Tesat business will be on its way to becoming Akadem legend, and you'll be part of it, like it or not. But people won't have it on their minds the way they do now."

Saavik nodded; that was probably true. She was glad that her advisor had taken the time to give her a human point of view. She forced herself to walk faster against the mounting wind, as did Dabourian. They did not speak any more until they reached Jenner House. Then Dabourian turned to her on the steps.

"It may not make sense to you now, but I think you will see that the opinions and criticisms of a few are not the whole scene. You're doing fine, Saavik."

Maybe. She thanked Dabourian for her candor and decided to walk uplevel. As she started to mount the stairs at the near end of the building, she watched Nureg Dabourian's figure sweeping toward the stairwell on the other end, closer to her own quad. Saavik now had some answers, at least, but these were ones she had already suspected. Certainly the speculations were harmless of themselves. To the average student, her own Romulan heritage might barely elicit a "So what?" – their curiosity satisfied, they would leave her alone. The Vulcans, though – they were another matter. And inside, she herself was still not sure how important that conflict might ultimately be.

Tonight, she resolved, she would go to the gym, no matter what the weather, and she would pound Romulans and their ghosts into the ground. It would help her regain her equilibrium and keep her carefully won serenity. It would subdue the fear that lived in her, that to ever acknowledge being even part Romulan, to once allow that part of her to surface, would spell total disaster. She realized just how terrifying it was to see the trap her genes were capable of laying for her – and how hard she must fight to be what she wanted to be.

Star Fleet and its senior positions were not for those who were unable to surmount personal failings. And to fail that goal – to fail the one who had rescued her – would make the mere contemplation of the future bleak indeed.


	32. Chapter 32: The Errant Cadaver

Chapter 32: The Errant Cadaver

Chapter 32: The Errant Cadaver

It was Quarter Day again, and ordinarily Tor would have welcomed the chance to travel to the other side of Akadem, to the Business/Economics complex where the desert started and where the exo-ecology research station was located. There would be really great hands-on work sessions that he wanted to take part in, and according to Cranston Pike, a medical lecturer from Andor would be presenting a seminar on mutations among multi-generational deep-space colonies. Getting the chance to do what he wanted to and hear Kele Andai, warred with the knowledge that Sunek had rated him only "fair" on his recent exoanatomy practical exam; and so Tor set himself to the grim task of reviewing his notes from class and from dissection labs. Late morning found him hunched over the Tellarite cadaver Jane Guerdon and her labmates had been working on. Jane had agreed to let him bring the body out of stasis and poke around some more in it. So had several other sympathetic pre-meds let him inspect their specimens: a Kantan Shai-wu, a Vulcanoid Tal'la, and a Naruk-ki.

Tor's problem at the exam had not been ignorance of human anatomy; what had created the problem were the infinitesimal details of difference between Terran and other species with which Sunek had peppered him. It had been damned embarrassing. He didn't even want to _look_ at "his" unfortunate human cadaver – in an irrational way, he hated the man.

"What a doctor you'll make, with that attitude!" Tor mumbled to himself. He cleaned up his work surface and then decided to have one more look at the inoffensive corpse, perhaps in apology for his illogical dislike. Lifting the drape that customarily concealed a cadaver's face, Tor wondered why it had bothered him the first time he had seen it, the day of the test. He shuddered as he realized how young it looked. Young… and dead. That was the part of life that he didn't want to acknowledge: some people died young, and it was a bitch.

But there _was_ something bothering him about this body. It was of a man perhaps twenty-one or –two years old, "well-nourished", as autopsy reports tended to say; _no reason_ for this one to be dead. Tor inspected the face again, more carefully.

A moment later, heart pounding, Tor burst into a pathology lab where he knew Jane and a biology Senior named T'Ani were preparing tissue specimens for histoanalysis. "What is the matter, Tor?" they cried in unison, startled at the gray pallor of his usually dark skin.

Tor caught a gulping breath, consciously expelled it, then looked from one to the other. "Can you tell me – do you know where they got that human cadaver, the one Gaaru and Daryann and I were tested on? Is there a list somewhere…?"

"No," Jane answered. "I mean, no, I do not know, by Cal Tanner has the list." Cal was the technician who supervised supplies for all the biomedical courses. "Why? What has happened?" When Tor just pointed back towards the room where he had been working, the girls decided to follow him and find out.

Tor had trouble hiding his agitation as he lifted the cover again. "Here – look." He pointed. "Where have you seen that face before?"

"I have not." Jane was certain of it.

"I have." T'Ani was equally certain. "Jane will not know, since she rarely leaves her studies and does not watch the news logs or the bulletin boards." True. Jane actually looked proud of this fact and considered the Vulcan's words a compliment. "But this is difficult to believe…" T'Ani commented, indicating the cadaver.

"But it is, isn't it? I'm not imagining it?"

"You are not imagining it. I suspect that we will soon discover where this specimen came from. First, I believe we must notify Security."

--

So, it was _not_ all over. Saavik returned from the Quarter Day symposium on literature that she had attended on Dr. Folsom's recommendation, to find Carinne, Tor, Jaime, Cranston, and Shavrai sprawled in the quad's common room discussing the latest in the Tesat story. The other students, except for Tor and Cran, had been at the same music lecture and concert and had returned scarcely an hour before. By then the news of Tor's discovery was already spreading, and Carinne had found him at the Grub, trying to hide at a corner table, and dragged him back to Jenner House. Others had drifted in to hear his story first-hand. Now Saavik, whether she wished to or not, was being drawn in also.

"I don't know _how_ I missed it before that moment," Tor was marveling. "It's not like his face wasn't all over the vids for weeks, everyone wondering where the hell he was… and he turned up right on my dissecting table!" Tor saw Saavik's politely blank face and explained, "It's Avennen – or Brucker, if you prefer. He's been in the stasis locker all along – great hiding place!"

Saavik raised her eyebrows as she let herself down on a pillow at Carinne's side. This _was_ fascinating, in a revolting way. Jaime was firing questions at Tor. "How did it get there? Who signed the body in? When did it happen? After all, you can't just drop a corpse off at the loading dock – hello, goodbye, thank you?"

"No, of course not. Believe me, the Security guys came hopping. They've already asked all those questions. It seems Cal Tanner just sent out the next human cadaver in stock: he didn't know nuthin' about nuthin'.

"But Jane and Cal remembered a man who'd worked at the lab only a short time, and was fired just last Quarter, I think. It turns out he was a former shipmate of Brucker's, _and _it turns out that _he's_ disappeared now, and no one really knows where he went after he was let go here. Get this – it was his job to check in anatomical specimens of all kinds – clones, animals, biopreparations, _and cadavers._"

Everyone was eager to speculate on the significance of this. "None, really," Shavrai pointed out. "Tesat isn't guilty, and if the greens want to go further on this, it doesn't involve students as far as anyone knows. So it would be a sector court's business." The young Andorian had, since his recent stint on the Inquiry Board, become a bit of a legal specialist, much consulted by the curious.

Saavik said nothing. To her, human actions, especially when driven by their emotional, reptilian brain areas, were still beyond comprehension. That someone had killed Gien Kai-Mekelen was bad enough; that a Romulan knife had been planted to incriminate an innocent person was criminal vengefulness; that the missing agent was now also lying dead, of a sharp blow to the back of the head, Tor was now informing them -- that merely added one more fact to the list of contemptible things of which humans were capable. Saavik also realized that her reaction was an extreme one, fed in equal parts by the strange behavior of Sunek towards her, and the fear of her own suppressed Romulan urges. She wished very much that she could wake tomorrow and never have heard of Tesat or the murder or the espionage hearing…

The others went on discussing: Jane's and T'Ani's reactions at seeing the body; Sunek being summoned by Security and cooperating quite graciously (for him) in locating any personnel who might know the background to the gruesome discovery; the moment when a holo image of Steven Brucker was held up to compare with the dead face. One among them – Jaime – suggested that they hadn't seen the last of Sarader Komack in this whole mess.

"That's no joke," said Miller DeMott, who had joined them, mostly for Carinne's company. He rolled a piece of nutcake around in the common spice dish and popped it into his mouth. (Food and drink had been synthesized to help along the flood of ideas.) "Just wait; there'll be something in it for old S. K. You can bet Brucker was going to talk. At the expense of you-know-who."

Saavik was repelled, although it seemed perfectly possible, given Komack's mode of operation, that the professor _would _wish to prevent Brucker/Avennen from coming forth with unwelcome information. Miller argued with Jaime about just how evil Komack really was, while Cran Pike and Shavrai exchanged exasperated glances. Carinne sighed and leaned back against Miller's knees, settling in comfortably. "Saavik," she whispered, "I have to talk with you later. Something has happened." She dropped her eyelids for a moment, a gesture that conveyed the need for discretion to her roommate. The Vulcan acknowledged with an equally small gesture.

There was no privacy for talk until after 2200 hours, when Miller finally left. The others had begun drifting out as they had appeared, casually and without long farewells. Miller had stayed on, and Saavik had taken her hour of meditation in one of the hall cubicles because she knew that even her Vulcan self-discipline could quite tune out the interesting sounds from the room where Carinne and Miller were visiting. When she came back to the quad, Carinne was brushing out her hair (blonde, this week), clad in a long green gown, pacing up and down.

"I have to tell you this tonight. Something has happened," she repeated her earlier cryptic statement. She gave her hair a vicious yank. "Luine's leaving. Poor kid, I could see it coming."

_And I did not_, Saavik reflected. Here, her shortcomings as a social being were most painfully evident. "Why? And why now, in the middle of a Quarter?"

Carinne sounded close to tears as she faced Saavik. "I tried to get her to tell me. It's been building, of course, since the moment her parents left. She said she's going to join her father's ship and do remote education and training on board. Oh, I know you can get a pretty good education that way, but… well, it's not because she couldn't keep up with the pace here. I think she was pushed."

"Pushed?" Saavik did not understand.

"It's a cliché from murder stories. 'He didn't jump – he was pushed.' You see? And it wasn't Tesat's getting acquitted, Saavik … I know what Luine said to you about that, she told me. That kid's so torn up, it's as if all kinds of problems are warping her normal ways of coping. When she told me this morning, I tried to get her to talk about it and tell me why she decided to leave so abruptly."

Carinne was still pacing, still emotional. "Saavik, it was Neill. _Something_ Neill said to her – or has been saying to her all along – got to her and made her snap." She breathed raggedly. "I've put up with a lot from Neill Gallaghan over these past years. But I'm damned if I want to be civil to her now. She has absolutely no moral sense about some things."

Saavik wondered about her own moral sense. She had, after all, not been a great help to Luine in her tragedy. Luine had not wanted to become closer to her after the hearings, as she had showed some sign of wanting to before. The Vulcan felt a sting of regret that the eager, friendly overtures had changed to passive sullenness. Now Luine would leave and probably be no happier as a ward on her father's ship than she had been on Akadem. Luine wanted the _freedom_ of space travel, the exhilaration of life… but would anything ever be the same to her again?

Her roommate was watching her. "If you are wondering, Saavik – don't try to understand Neill. Trust me – she's not a _normal_ human being, not in the emotional sense." Her tone was almost pleading. "I don't understand it myself. I wanted to just pick Lu up and hold her like a little kid, but she doesn't want our sympathy. She just wants _out._"

"When? You said soon."

"As soon as she can arrange transport to meet her father's ship. Her academic work – I doubt she'll finish the Quarter. You should have seen her. Not a tear, no expression on her face. I see it right away, when someone's fooling herself, telling herself something's best for her when it isn't… I wanted to find out _what _Neill said to her, but she wouldn't tell me."

"Is that important?"

"No. I guess you're right, Saavik. What's important is that she hurt Luine. No, I won't even talk to Neill about it. It'll be obvious to everyone, won't it, that it takes a lot of pain to make someone quit in a panic like that. Neill will get her due." This last sentence was uttered in a dark voice carrying a hint of divine retribution. Saavik looked at Carinne in surprise, even alarm: tolerant, understanding, sophisticated Carinne Ramsay, child of diplomats, even-tempered historian-to-be, was giving quite an exhibition of anger and passion. The Vulcan girl remained silent long enough that Carinne stopped her rant and looked expectantly at her.

"I shall talk with Neill." Saavik realized that she had actually volunteered. "I know that it will likely not help Luine. It is illogical on the face of it, but I will find out what Neill's quarrel is with Luine."

"Good girl." Carinne gave a small, tight smile. "I'd blow my stack if I once got started on her. Maybe you can deal with Gallaghan arrogance better than I can, at the moment." She began to prepare for bed, and changed the tack of the conversation. "Oh, Saavik… thanks for letting Miller and me have some time to ourselves, that was perceptive of you. He had some good news to share with me tonight."

Saavik was interested in spite of herself, although she still thought that Carinne and Miller had been up to a bit more than just sharing good news.

"He's had an offer from a member of the Federation Medical Oversight Committee, to join a team of specialists in setting up clinics in the same sector where I'll be working, the area round Memory Alpha. He'll start in Gamma Quarter, next cycle, for his intern program. So we won't be far apart for too long." She had changed from bleak anger with Neill to peaceful contentedness. Saavik had observed earlier how Carinne had been at ease with Miller, leaning against him and letting him feed her chips. "He's supposed to have three months of the year to himself for research, so during that time he can come and live with me on Memory. Oh, I know we are too young to be married, far too young. I may _never_ marry, Saavik... but Miller is _special_."

"It sounds like a logical arrangement." What else could Saavik say? She had no personal reference points for "love". If Carinne and Miller were attracted to each other they would find a way to be together. If they could find a way to be together as they worked on their Exemption Quarters, well and good.

Carinne laughed. "Thank you, that was well said. I apologize. Sometimes I forget what a trial we can be to a Vulcan."

Saavik forced herself to merely raise her eyebrows in the expected Vulcan manner. _Oh, how little you know about me_, she thought. And in a way she regretted having to hide from her roommate the truth that, perhaps, she might be just as emotional as a human, if she permitted herself to be. To all on the outside, she must show pure Vulcan; to be sane, she must also forget, on the inside, that there _were_ alternatives for her. Spock might disagree, but here Saavik knew best. Exposure to emotional beings was dangerous to her identity, which must become and _be_ Vulcan.


	33. Chapter 33: The Rules We Live By

_Well, it has been a long time since you ,gentle readers, were reassured that no profit is being made from these characters, especially not the ones owned by Paramount. That is still the case. I am just having fun here._

Chapter 33: The Rules We Play By

The next day was soon enough for Saavik to find and confront Neill, who had come in late. Luine hadn't come in at all; she was staying with Holly and had called in to tell Carinne so, just before the girls had retired for the night. Saavik saw Neill headed down the hallway to the sonic cleaner with a pile of clothes and resolved to speak with her when she returned. There were no classes today. Akadem followed the Earth custom of two days of rest after five of work. In the larger meditation room on their floor, there was a group of students holding a religious service involving a group meal, and Saavik could hear the murmur of voices rising and falling to the pleasant accompaniment of flutes and plectra. From other quads there was no sound, as many took the opportunity to sleep late whenever possible. Quarter Day had made this into a long rest-period, to be spent as one pleased.

Saavik did not relish the thought of questioning Neill Gallaghan about what she had said to Luine, since in fact it was none of her business. She would be acting just like a meddling human, the worst kind. She could not banish from her mind, however, the thought that the younger girl was a victim; and an awareness of justice was a sensitive point with her now, since her abysmal self-betrayal at Tesat's hearing.

Neill breezed into the room, ready to study all day. Saavik stood, not blocking her path but so that her quadmate could not ignore her. "Neill, Luine has decided to leave Akadem and join her father. Why did she decide this?"

"Yeah… I heard. What do you mean, _why?_ Am I supposed to read her mind now? That's a Vulcan trick, not mine." She made as if to pass by Saavik, who pressed her.

"I do not believe you. Luine has problems which make her unhappy, but this decision is very sudden. Carinne heard from her that you had said something to make her arrive at this point rather hastily." Saavik saw the incredulous, sudden anger in the other's expression, replacing Neill's usual sullen boredom.

"Carinne said! Luine said! Everyone's got plenty to say. I can certainly say what _I_ think, and if the child is not able to handle the conversation of adults, she does not belong among adults. Now, I believe I have other things to do, Saavik."

"It is not a secret that you have said unkind words to Luine since she arrived here, and yet she is an inoffensive and innocent girl. I have learned plenty of unpleasant facts about humans since coming here myself. One is the propensity of some for baiting and unjustly criticizing others who have done them no harm."

"That's a mighty fine speech," Neill sneered. She had lost interest in getting away from the Vulcan, and now stood facing her, fists planted at her hips. "Do I hear _you_ calling me a hypocrite? Do I sense _you _think I'm not being nice to the poor little kid? Coming from you, that's almost funny… though I don't expect you'd see that, would you?"

"I am saying, Neill, that there is no logical reason to make life difficult for Luine. Whether what you said to her yesterday was true or not, it is without sense to use it to destroy her sense of self-worth."

Neill barked an unpleasant laugh. "You sound just like Carinne, always bleeding over someone. And you're doing a marvelous job defending Luine," she remarked sarcastically, "a lot better job than you did defending Tesat. You've suddenly gone all righteous, for some reason." Seeing Saavik momentarily stunned and growing angry, Neill laughed again. "What do I know about all that, right? I may keep to my own business most of the time, but I'm not stupid. The story is all over, that you came out at the last minute with that bit of theatre about a 'secret Romulan oath'. You didn't seem in a big hurry to say anything about it before, when it might've helped Tesat's defense… might even have got the charge dismissed without a hearing."

"I had forgotten," Saavik answered, and although it was true it still sounded lame. Her voice was strained and her fury was building.

"How convenient," Neill drawled, arching her brows in a perfect mockery of the characteristic Vulcan gesture. "You have such marvelous Vulcan memory, dear. Do you also have that wonderful gift for rationalizing things that bother us other species? Are we _all_ supposed to live by your Vulcan standards – except for you? Are you _angry_, Saavik?" she asked, pretending shock. "How is that possible?"

Saavik felt ashamed in the midst of her fury. It would not do to go berserk now. She heard Spock's inner voice: _Take the second breath…keep your shields up._

"Funny, isn't it – you're after _me_ for not liking that little Luine… but you're not exactly best buds with Tesat, either. Could there, just maybe, be some little bit of anti-Romulan enmity behind your 'memory loss'? That's not very logical, is it?" Neill sounded languid and bored again. "Now let me get back to my studying. This conversation isn't going anywhere."

She heard Neill stalking around in her bedroom, and sat on the sofa in the common room, pushing aside the jumbled pillows still strewn about from last night's party. She had certainly not helped Luine, only succeeded in breaking the tacit peace between herself and Neill. Things were not as easy as she had thought they would be.

Feeling that she should study, too, if only to take her mind from the quarrel, Saavik sat down with a hard copy of her poetry exam, which Mianette Folsom had critiqued for her with online annotations. The comments on her parallel poem, written in response to Surak's, had been favorable. Folsom had written interested remarks under her work and asked whether Saavik would like to do a special preparation on the works of Surak for the last part of the Quarter.

She stared at her poem again. Still contemplating it, she rose and moved into her own bedroom and sat down at her compu/desk, not to use the terminal but to put scriptor to paper... it would force her to slow down. It was with dogged determination that she started to write something new:

_Within its wall the mind stands firm;_

_Walls of tradition, time, assent_

_that give the mind its stay._

_Peel away each layer,_

_each corner of the walls _

_one by one._

_Denude the mind._

_Strip out the pride._

_Seed the doubts, and force_

_the plant to spring_

_that cracks the last wall at its ancient base._

It was not "good poetry", as she understood the phrase, but it was her own. The walls that held up her Vulcan habitation, her mind's secure faith in herself as a Vulcan, were under attack – not down, not cracked quite, but in need of shoring up.

_Mind to mind in touch_

_throws out a slender reinforcing spar –_

_slender but strong –_

_the wall sways one last time_

_and stops._

_That _was the calm that came from remembering Spock's mind-presence. Suddenly it seemed fruitless, and she tore the paper in two. Yet she knew that the words would not uncompose themselves. Spock _was_ the saving, reinforcing spar; she remembered a picture in a history vid, of an ancient Earth church with "flying buttresses" counterbalancing the weight resting on the building's walls. It was recklessly sentimental to invest her teacher with such qualities, and he would never allow it, were he here. Yet the words stayed with her.

Fooling around with poetry was indeed dangerous.


	34. Chapter 34: Settling in For the Night

Part IV. Out of the Waters

Chapter 34: Settling in For the Night

The rains which been threatening for nearly a week had finally begun, two days after Quarter Day. Students arrived for classes soaking wet and in bad temper; after a long, sunny season many of them had to rediscover indoor activities. Also, it was hard to settle into coursework again after a few days' break. Tor Srimandan talked himself through a quick session with Akadem Security investigators, who were still seeking the vanished former employee, Harry Umberto, before rushing late into his Public Health lecture. Dr. Mulmann gave him a tolerant glance as he slid into a seat next to T'Lemmi. He leaned over to whisper a greeting.

She gave some faintly amused attention to his wet-cat appearance before returning her concentration to Dr. Mulmann's lecture. Outside, the water fell in sheets. Tor dried out after a while and was able to force up some interest in the subject of public health systems of non-Federation societies. Near the end of the class he passed T'Lemmi's terminal an e-note asking if she would stay and talk. She stared back and nodded after a moment.

They walked the corridor after class, and Tor persuaded her to enter a meditation cubicle with him. It was barely large enough for the two of them. They squeezed side by side onto the padded bench. Inevitable, their arms touched and Tor was suffused with longing. This would not do…

"T'Lemmi, I've missed you this last week. I looked for you on Quarter Day. First I wanted you to come to that lecture with me, but then I decided to do catch-up in the lab."

The Vulcan said, "I know. The whole planet knows. Your discovery was most sensational. T'Ani told me about it."

Wryly, Tor laughed at the memory of the uproar caused by one very dead anatomy specimen. "Did you go to any lectures?"

"Stiel and I went to the physics forum. It was very enlightening. One of the participants was the laureate from the Vulcan Academy, Sela'an."

"The one who wrote the text for Shih-ei's elementary electronics course? I'll bet that was a good one. Was there any discussion?" But Tor's heart was not in this line of conversation. As far as he was concerned, he and T'Lemmi were running out of time, and he had not yet accepted what was to happen. "T'Lemmi, please tell me what you will do, and when."

She was so close to him now… her eyes in the semidarkness looked obscured and veiled. "Do? My parents have arranged for my entry into the junior medical division of the Academy, and for Stiel to join the chemical research division, after Delta Quarter. You know that, Tor. You are still upset that I am going to leave and I find that most distressing."

"You're trying very hard to understand me, I know… I'm sorry, but I'd like to know more about… about your marriage."

T'Lemmi hesitated, shy as her people were about discussing intensely personal matters. "What there is to know, you know already. You know Vulcan's marriage customs and the nature of the bond between mates, better than any other human I have ever known. Skal was going to attend Akadem for several years, but now he will also study at the Vulcan Academy, and we will marry in two years."

Tor, despite heartache, was curious. "I thought you would both be considered too young to marry. I thought that the male at least had to be in his twenties or thirties."

"For sexual maturity, yes, of course. But it is not unknown for two who are bonded to marry and reside together long before that time. It is a signal to society that the couple are ready to be treated as adults and to take on the responsibilities of adults." T'Lemmi turned her face away from her companion, sensing that Tor was wounded by every allusion to her marriage.

To be honest, T'Lemmi did not know Skal well, and had seen little of him since leaving for Akadem. When they were children they had been good playmates, and although nothing could be closer than the relationship between her and her twin brother, she had had time for Skal then, too. There was no reason that he should have changed, or that the bond would be any weaker than when it was made. It _was_ true that in getting to know Tor Srimandan she had frequently experienced an emotional link that was different from the one she had with Skal, different in a pleasant, comfortable way. She had learned about human feelings through this link, and regretted causing him pain with her plans.

Tor knew this. He had no psi powers himself, no latent telepathic gifts of his own; only association with T'Lemmi had taught him to assess her. "It's O.K., T'Lemmi, you'll marry this Skal and you'll have your dream of a research career. And if you want to roam afield, out in the galaxy, your husband will probably not raise an eyebrow. I expect your dreams will be neatly sewed up." Did he sound bitter? He did not wish to degrade himself in her eyes, but it was hard to keep the asperity from his voice.

For one crazy, fantastical moment, Tor envisioned himself storming Vulcan, challenging Skal at the marriage ceremony, fighting and possibly killing the unknown young Vulcan, winning T'Lemmi the way her ancestors had been won… He pulled himself together, horrified at his train of thought, shuddering at the picture. _Now he was really losing it._ But T'Lemmi was speaking again.

"Tor, these are not 'dreams', they are logical and practical probabilities. It is _you _who have 'dreams' that _I_ cannot fulfill for you." Now her voice lost its normal coolness, and Tor was reminded of the scene in his room, weeks before, when he had yielded to tears and - at least for a moment – forced T'Lemmi to react to him as more than a friend. She was speaking now with a compassion that rose so far above his own feelings and concerns, that it made him realize how much older she already was than he. "I am not for you, Tor, and I hope that you will never forget I have been your friend, just because I cannot be anything more to you. I will even say, as I have said before, that on Vulcan you might have a better home than on a human-dominated planet, because you are able to live with Vulcans on our terms. If any human male could be a good mate for a Vulcan woman, I think it is you."

"T'Lemmi, that's too much… too much to ask of me… to think of that. No other Vulcan woman. There is one special Vulcan girl – woman – and there won't be another like you. That's the way it works among humans, in the best of cases… But thank you. I know how you meant that. You honor me more than I deserve."

"We do not flatter, nor do we tolerate false modesty." T'Lemmi permitted herself a touch of impatience. "My time on Akadem would not have been as satisfying as it has been, had you not been here. Perhaps one day you _will_ be able to come to Vulcan again and discover what you are seeking."

Tor reached for her hand, held it, anticipating Vulcan withdrawal, surprised and pleased when this was not forthcoming. T'Lemmi allowed the touch and turned to her human friend. For a minute he thought she was going to say more, but she kept silent. He wondered what would happen if he just…

The rooms were supposed to be private, and both of them were startled when there was a heavy pounding at the door. "Everyone out!" a voice summoned them. Tor slid the door open and saw a student already hammering on the next door down the hallway. "Everyone's got to clear the ground floors in the whole complex! The reservoir's overflowing, and they think the Elbow Dam might go!" He ran on without waiting for them to come out.

Tor pulled T'Lemmi along as they took the steps two at a time, not pausing until they reached the third floor, where they joined a group of students and faculty who were staring out the windows. They were watching the almost visible rising of water in the low-lying areas of the Science complex grounds. The bay windows on the third level afforded a full view of the swirling, pooling brown water, and in places small groups of people could be seen rushing along the soggy walks towards the safety of dormitories and classroom buildings. Far in the distance, the racing lake and swimming pool had already lost their neat, squared-off outlines. There was a lake around the gym that was sending sludgy tentacles snaking under the pavilions bordering the Main.

"Not a good idea to try and go anywhere, not now," Hau'ri the Tellarite observed, watching as two girls and a boy struggled in water already to their thighs, headed for Cochrane House from the Faculty building. They made it. But it was not hard to guess that in an hour or less the short journey even between these close-set buildings would be perilous if not impossible on foot.

Lalami Keinaomi, a short, braid-crowned Troyian, gravely regarded the scene from her perch on the window seat. She knelt there like a small child fascinated by the view on her first space voyage. "Looks like they're gathering up the boats."

"Security people are getting them together before they break away. We'll need them all, if things go on like this." The Security officer who had joined them at their observation spot was not much older than the Senior students. She was soaked to the skin, even through her rain gear, and her manner was anxious. "You are all to stay here, above first-floor level, preferably above second. I'm going to get all the stragglers up here in a moment, and I want your promise to stay in the classrooms and wait for further safety instructions." She was well aware that in general the Akadem student crowd was not so easily ordered around.

"What about tonight? Can't we go back to our quads? _I_ don't want to sleep here!" More than one student took up this cry.

Officer Marilyn Caffutt blew out a noisy sigh at the prospect of having to herd students and keep them herded. And some of them were so damned young… "We don't know yet! You can see for yourselves what it looks like out there. _If_ the rain lets up this afternoon, the drainage _may_ take care of that water. But I wouldn't count on it."

One of the older boys came to the officer's rescue. "When it rains like this on Akadem, it doesn't let up for days, sometimes; I've seen it. She's right – we're all better off staying put." Caffutt shot him a brief look of thanks; the younger kids seemed more impressed with another student's opinion. "Anyway," the older boy continued, "there's a food synthesizer on the second floor, and as long as that's O.K., we can eat. Which I'm going to do. It's lunchtime!"

It was amazing how quickly a large number of adolescents of all species could move when in peril of missing lunch. A few – Tor, T'Lemmi, Gobesh Dal, Lupe Esquinez, and a gaggle of young students - remained at the windows to keep watch, while the officer moved on to make sure other students in classrooms further on knew of the potential danger from the rising waters.

There were continuous small dramas outdoors. With the sky a dull iron-gray and the water now falling in dense brown curtains, it was more and more difficult to see beyond a few meters. Just below the Science Beta building several more students were making the dash, all holding hands in a chain, over to Gamma, where others hung out of the open first-floor windows cheering them on. It was all great fun, if you ignored the potential for disaster. Others were defying Security instructions to wade on the Main. In places it was nearly waist-deep. A launch skimmed over the water farther away on the Main, cutting toward the nearly submerged shuttle field.

Tor commented, "This is really a big one. If _this_ is overflow from the reservoir, then I wouldn't want to see it if the Elbow fails." The rest thought about that; no one cared to follow his speculations to their fateful end. Tor had seen a flood, a small one, four years before, as had many of the older kids on this part of Akadem. Back then, the dam had not been in danger. Now Lupe suggested that they all get something more to eat and then settle in until it was safe to leave. She and Gobie discussed working in the computer room and catching up on some work for their end-of-Quarter papers.

"Might as well," Gobie grumbled. "What a place to get stuck."

Tor and T'Lemmi were left momentarily alone by a window. They did not resume their earlier conversation, but looked out on the steadily worsening weather and flood. "I expect that if this goes on, the Akadem Committee and Security will want student volunteers."

"For sandbags? Up at the reservoir?" Tor was skeptical. He remembered breaking his back during the last flood, filling those primitive sandbags with a student work detail. All that work had not even been necessary.

T'Lemmi pointed out, "This time there may be real rescue work as well. The medical center may need help. I think that we should assemble all of the premedical students. This _is _the place to find them, after all." This was true. Since classes had been full that morning, with any luck many of the biology and medical students would still be in the building. "We could contact the Committee and ask what personnel are needed, and where."

Consulting with fellow-students in the small cafeteria and in the classrooms, they soon gathered a list of rescue volunteers. Some professors were trying to hold classes during the afternoon, but student preoccupation with outside events made this a ridiculous proposition. Some small groups of serious types did get together to study. But most people occupied terminals and compu/desks for recreational purposes or to tap into the news and weather network.

According to the Communications complex's news team, several areas of Akadem had been struck by heavy rain; the Elbow Dam was still intact but under an increasing onslaught from the waters, barely able to contain the reservoir's increased load; some damage to academic and residential buildings had been reported in the Arts and Business complexes. T'Lemmi's message to the Akadem Committee via the communications central site was soon acknowledged. The Committee was in fact soliciting volunteers over sixteen years old who could move safely from their present locations, urging them to assemble at the infirmaries and computer centers. Those in safe complexes should not try to take monocar lines to the flood areas, but should meet at their complex's shuttle field for transport and assignment.

Tor tapped in a message to the medical chief at the Science complex infirmary, that their group could still make the journey safely, since it was just across the walk. Dr. Saines worded his reply in cautious bureaucratese, but at the end added, "Tor, if you and any other premeds can slosh over here, it'll be good to have you. We may need all hands later on."

"What are we waiting for? Are you coming too?" And T'Lemmi nodded. The word was spread. Soon fourteen premedical students in pitifully inadequate rain gear – or none at all - crossed the twenty meters between Science Beta and the infirmary. T'Lemmi clasped Tor's wrist, and the others strung along behind. They found that they needed each other's aid, as the water tugged at their thighs and waists in a frightening current. They had not foreseen that the narrow space between buildings would function as a draw funnel, and tree limbs and other debris battered at them in passing.

Dr. Saines had sent a nurse and three orderlies to help haul them in through a first-floor window, as the water churned just half a meter below the sills. The doors had been completely sealed, and so far this was keeping the first level dry. Tor commented, "Good thing these buildings even _have_ windows. Thank some old-fashioned designer who thought he'd want his fresh air…" Panting, the premeds were allowed to just stand and drip for a moment.

The nurse, a copper-freckled Asian man, joked with them, trying to take their minds off just how disastrously this all might turn out. "My friends, if there hadn't been any windows, we'd have been hauling you up the side of the building in a basket, and in through the skylight!"

The students were outfitted, much to their thrill, in dry surgical suits and were put under the watchful eyes of the Tellarite shift nurse. This was not at all pleasant. Most of them knew Dassi well and avoided her religiously.

"I am _so_ very glad that you have come," she barked. "I happen to suffer from a nurse shortage this week, and there is a nice backlog of work to do..." Soon, she had them inputting data, chasing after elusive supplies, and only occasionally having anything to do with a patient.

"Do you know what a 'go-fer' is, T'Lemmi?" Tor muttered, his arms piled with a jumble of catheters, tangled lines, and data disks jammed into a large box. (The task: sort, organize, file, whatever.)

The Vulcan girl gave him an innocent look as she removed some trays from a food synthesizer. "_Marmota monax,_ a small Terran mammal, herbivorous, subterranean habitat…" His furious glare made her raise her eyebrows.

"Tor, if we were still over in Beta, we would be playing Scrabble or galactic battle-cruisers on a terminal. Does it not make more sense to be of use here?"

"Yah, sure. Shall I tell you how domestic you look right now?" Then Tor thought about the fact that whatever T'Lemmi might be, it was _not_ domestic… and if she ever were, it would not be in _his_ home. T'Lemmi noted the saddened shift in his expression and ventured a rare joke.

"While you are going somewhere, Tor, would you go-fer an apron for me?" She neatly dodged the contents of Tor's box, which clattered to the floor where she had just been. She had done what she intended. Tor was grinning as he gathered his scattered items and headed down the hallway.


	35. Chapter 35: It's Gone

Chapter 35: "It's Gone"

By mid-afternoon, everyone in Science I complex was safely gathered on the upper floors of buildings, according to the newsvids, and the planetary meteorology staff (mostly Senior students) predicted that the rains would decrease in force soon, but continue through the night and into the next day. The dam still held. Most of the students were more relaxed, but stayed in their safe locations pending clearance from Security. At the infirmary, even Dassi got tired of riding the premeds, and they gathered in small groups here and there to visit. All over the complex, students bored with computer games constructed small sailboats and tested them outside the windows, guiding them with sticks or string. Most of the craft perished quickly amid laughter and loud promises to try again. Yet the rain showed no sign of slowing; if anything, the storm became more violent.

Chance and the luck of scheduling determined who was "stranded" with whom. The fortunate ones had been in or near their own or friends' dormitories and were curled up on beds and sofas enjoying an idle afternoon without classes. Among these were Carinne and her neighbors Jaime and Brad; Stiel, who took the time to repair his terminal and read instruction manuals; the Zoromir clutch and their best friend, Maruk (who preferred living in the quads over staying in her parents' faculty residence); Dibrat dei Haxrash, happy to have the place to himself, intending to inundate himself with Riakal drug-music which Paul hated… full-blast, of course; Tesat and Rufia, who were cooking up a particularly malodorous batch of _dalkies_… None of these were worried too much about their friends. Those who were faced with spending a night elsewhere had almost all called to leave messages on their quadmates' terminals.

Those who were at the Grub were in eleventh heaven. Since the place was on a considerable rise adjacent to the flooded shuttle field, it seemed an excellent spot for anyone who wanted to get away from it all in luxury. The lunchtime crowd had stayed on, aware that they had lots of food, no excuse for studying, and the adventurous feeling of being on an island… This was fine, for most of the humans. Cranston Pike, Tobit Nhu, Talya Smiths, and little Gunnar Andresson took turns singing everything from interplanetary pop ballads to extremely obscene limericks set to music from the battered accordion ferreted out of a back room by the Grub's proprietor, Garley Brown.

The humans' gaiety was infectious, but there were those who faced the prospect of so much water on all sides with dwindling enthusiasm. Paul Loman was terrified of water, and he was _very_ sorry that he had earlier turned down a chance to run for it before the water got too high. Now he and the Vulcan Stebit were playing chess at a table as far removed from a window as they could find. Stebit did not mind the water; Stebit rarely minded anything. He and Paul always got along well together in classes, and Paul was glad of the chess diversion, glad of the Vulcan's calm demeanor.

From Faculty House, where she was consulting with her preceptor, Dr. Shawe, Luine Kai-Mekelen had got over to the lab building before the water was too deep. She had been all wound up with the magnitude of her decision to leave Akadem, and had stubbornly resisted efforts by Dr. Shawe to counsel her to stay through the Quarter. Slogging through the muddy water had allowed Luine to do some welcome stomping and flailing and cursing, as she fell several times over submerged obstacles. She arrived at the labs to find each newcomer greeted as a hero. There was good-natured cheering as she was handed in by the window, outfitted in a dry lab smock and dry shoe-covers, and given a piece of synthed cake. Some students were actually working in the labs, though the pace was slow and languid. Several classrooms had been turned into vid-theatres, so Luine chose one and settled down to see "Unrest in the Black Nebula" after leaving a message for Carinne that she was all right.

Saavik was also in the labs, having chosen that day to follow Dr. Macmillan's suggestion that she perform some spectral analyses as a special project. She realized that the general atmosphere today would not be favorable to serious research, but set to work anyway to familiarize herself with the equipment. The techs who helped her to get started were amused that _anyone_ would want to work when there were such excellent diversions outside. _Typical Vulcan_, their expressions read, as they showed Saavik around.

Luine, prowling around later that afternoon, was bored with the vids and found the card games too complicated in her present frame of mind. What she _wanted_ was to board the next shuttle and be off this planet, but no telling now how long a delay there would be. The field could not be safely used until the water was completely drained off, of course. Luine stuck her head in at the door of a lab at random, and was momentarily disconcerted at seeing Saavik. The Vulcan returned her uncomfortable glace with a questioning one of her own.

'Saavik…," Luine ventured, "can I come in and bother you?" She edged into the room, glad that no one else was in their section at the moment.

"You may." Saavik checked her indicators, engaged the computer governor, and turned to face the other girl. "Did you come over from another building?" Luine's hair still looked damp. She nodded.

"From the Faculty House. I was … making arrangements."

"I see. Have you not changed your mind?"

Luine shrugged. "No reason to. Uhhh… Saavik…. I heard what you tried to do, you know, face down Neill the other day. Thanks – it doesn't make a difference, but I appreciate it. I _am_ leaving, I would even if Neill apologized. Which she's not going to do." She paused, as if waiting for her quadmate to argue. Saavik did not bite. "I had to make up my own mind. Neill didn't help… but I might've gone anyway."

"Not right now, surely," Saavik pointed out. "No normal shuttles will be available for days, I expect."

Luine made a face. "All right… well, there's no place else to be but here, I guess." And she sat down on the table top, tapped her fingers nervously for a few moments, then sighed deeply and poured out the story to Saavik. The Vulcan had not exactly been prepared for this, but did not see an alternative to listening. After all, she had taken up the child's cause. What she heard were some cruel comments Neill had made, including statements that it would be better if Luine did not exist at all, and other things meant to denigrate her self-worth. Saavik was aware that she was only hearing Luine's version of the story, but it did not take any imagination to fit it in closely with what she knew of Neill's attitude and manner of expressing herself. Saavik could see that Luine did not possess the ammunition to fight Neill on her own ground, nor the hard-headedness needed to stand up for long against someone as abrasive as her roommate.

They did not realize how much time had passed until another head appeared at the door. "Oh, sorry… I'm supposed to let everyone know it's definite: we have to stay the night. The water's almost over the first-floor window ledges."

Saavik sat up at once. "The equipment? Has it been moved to safety?" She felt ashamed at not having thought of it earlier.

"Got everything that was moveable up to the second level, just finished now." The little boy was breathless; in his expression he reminded Saavik of Brad Franks.

She said, "We will come and help if there is anything else to move."

"Great!" He looked relieved. "Dr. Joe still needs people to get some of the stuff that's bolted down." Apologetically, he added, "I don't know what all of the stuff is called, but I know it's important. I don't take classes here, I was waiting for a friend and got stuck here."

Luine grinned. "Me, too. I don't know a cyclotron from a crochet hook. But _I'll _help."

Having something to _do_ at a time like this was one way of staying out of trouble, Saavik reflected, and she noticed that most of her fellow-students were keeping busy, constantly moving, avoiding a confrontation with the fear of the unknown. Darkness was coming on early with the evil weather. As the waters rose, no one wanted to talk about their worries, obvious as they might be.

--

By 2100 hours, with the rain unabated, the water level had reached to the entrance of the Grub at last. Over the communications link, old Garley Brown called in for evacuation, as soon as he saw that a couple of hours more would make this no longer a safe place for his crowd of kids. He worried about them when there _wasn't_ any trouble; why wouldn't he worry about them now? _He _wouldn't want to have to answer to their parents if something happened to them while they were in his charge!

But Security had promised to send boats, and as the water seeped under the door he heard the thumping of the friction-propelled craft in the near distance. "Thank heaven," he breathed, and opened the windows to see how far the children would have to climb or be let down. Brownie looked over at the two dozen or more young creatures sprawled on his chairs and tables, eating his food (for free, tonight), all more or less scared but taking it well. That little half-Tellarite was up on top of a table, high and dry, still bravely playing chess. The Vulcan with him had merely tucked his legs under him on his chair. The humans were keeping their feet dry – all except that hellion Selena Dombratty… well, Brownie remembered that she was half-Kantan, after all, and _they _all thought they were fish, what with that ocean planet they came from. There she was in the water, the brazen hussy, up to her shoulders, trying to tease that underage boyfriend of hers to "come on in, love." Gus wasn't having any of it.

"It's _cold_, Selena," Garley Brown said finally. "Amphibian or not, you don't need pneumonia."

Clinically precise, Miller DeMott said, "You don't get pneumonia from cold water exposure."

"You – the premed hotshot! Tell _me_ about pneumonia, will ya? _I_ say don't sit in the water. There are probably a lot of other good reasons not to."

Miller mollified the old man. "Sure. Like typhoid. Goren fever. Parasitic microorganisms." He saw Selena shudder. Brown was nodding triumphantly as she slowly climbed out and up onto the table with Gus. He decided to add some more good advice.

"Kids, all the smarts on all your home planets put together won't do any good without common sen- "

He never got to finish his lecture. The noise seemed almost too small for its significance, too dull, too muffled for the power it represented. They heard only a BOOM, like a distant explosion, followed by a preternatural silence.

"Oh, _shit,_" Tobit Nhu whispered. "the dam…" Immediately, their faces shocked into pallor, whatever their natural hue; they all faced each other in a ring, each seeking out his or her comrades, no one at the moment wanting to look out of the window. The outside grounds lights had extinguished completely, and now the inside lights went too, putting them all in blackness.

"My God," said someone, "let's get as high up as we can. Everyone will know what's happened to us, won't they? There'll be boats here soon. We've been hearing them…"

"They've been picking up everyone else," Cran Pike observed, fighting panic in his voice. He and Tobit helped Brownie up onto a counter. As one of the older students here, Cran wanted to keep anyone else from giving way to their terrors. "They'll be here soon. They'll get to us. Let's just sit tight."

They searched the dark and took comfort from the distorted light still shimmering from the eastern side of the flooded gym, the only building they could see.

--

Professors and Upper division students were getting things organized. While communications held up, they stayed in touch with Security and made sure all the junior students had enough work to keep them occupied. Word came to the group in the lab building that there was a full team at the infirmary ready for any casualties, and that in fact there had been some injuries from students tripping over rocks or debris under the roaring water; there had even been a near-drowning, a Deltan boy who had overbalanced on a window ledge at Newton House and fallen in. Saavik and some of the others took turns monitoring the terminals, keeping up a regular contact with all the residence and academic buildings on the complex. They relayed regular "all's well" messages to Akadem Security Central. Outside their open windows, through the steady _whoosh_ of the rain and wind, they heard the skimmers criss-crossing the submerged area and knew that every available man and woman was out in the boats making sure students stayed where they were.

So they were surprised when a skimmer bumped up under the open second-floor window, a bare meter below the ledge. The exterior lights still glowed, and showed a couple of Security people and a dozen students outfitted in waterproofs, their faces lit against the background of the night. As their friends recognized them, they were hailed, and hands reached down to drag them up to the window.

Shulamith spoke first, recovering her breath. "They came by – the boat had plenty of room – Security's taking volunteers over sixteen who have rescue training – just to stand by, in case." She motioned to their craft, which was already tied to a bolted-down lab table by a long line fed through the window.

The Security escort seemed doubtful about the whole adventure. "Don't get too worked up about that… we don't really expect to have to ask any of you to do anything but wait right here." Shrugging as if to say, _Fine with me_, Shulamith sat close to a heating vent which gave her some relief from her shivers. The others – Saavik recognized Dibrat and Tesat and some others she knew vaguely – did their best to get warm and dry. Again, fresh lab outfits and slippers were offered and gratefully accepted.

Saavik, who was sitting with Luine in a corner of the large lecture room, caught the Romulan's eye for a second. They exchanged no words. Tesat had plenty to do: she did not care to have an unproductive conversation, either with Saavik or with that incompetent spy's little sister. Tesat gave her attention to Shulamith and the Security officer, an Andorian named Fisith Axan, who were between them discussing what might be expected during the next few hours.

Someone had the weather vid report turned on rather loud: no change expected yet. Shaji Raxmi was arguing with Dibrat about women – of course. It did not matter in the least that Shaji's people were gender neutral; Shaji plunged itself wholeheartedly into whatever undertaking anyone was involved in: sports, concerts, drinking bouts, any recreational endeavors, including the pursuit of love… Certainly, if Lefty even dared to say something pejorative about humans – especially about human women – Shaji would most likely jump down his argumentative throat. Tesat tried to shut out their increasingly loud discussion, as well as all the other chaos.

They all heard the BOOM as a dulled sound, like an explosion far underground. The building shook for just a second. The comm link was still working, and they heard, loud and clear, the words of the skimmer crew on surveillance up by the reservoir.

"_It's gone._"


	36. Chapter 36: Bringing Them In

Chapter 36: Bringing Them In

Fortunately for all who were downstream of the swell of water, the terrain was generally flat. The water spread wide rather than rushing in a wall of destruction. Still, it came on suddenly and rapidly.

The Grub was inundated. The force of the floodwater moved furniture and knocked several people into the water. Quickly, they were pulled back onto the tables and counters, but there was a real chill of fear in the air now. The door had caved in and water was several centimeters over the table tops. And no boat had come.

"If it gets any higher," Corvei Marchese said, "we'll have to hang on any way we can."

"Those who can't swim, we'll take in the middle. We'll hold you up and keep you above the water," Cranston Pike promised the terrified friends who were relying on him for guidance. He couldn't see any faces, but knew they must be pale and strained. "Don't worry…" Yet he, too, wondered where the boats were.

Garley Brown swept a crying child into his arms – he didn't even know which one, in the dark. Good – whoever it was, stopped crying. They couldn't afford chain-reaction blubbering now, not with everyone's alertness needed. "Got a story to tell you, buddy," he began steadily. "Happened when I was out on the trade routes; a Klingon trader, big fellow, took a job on this mining planet 'cause he heard there were fortunes to be made in that sector, far away from Federation law…"

--

In the clamor after the report from the dam site, Security officers in all the endangered areas redoubled their efforts to keep everyone at least a couple of meters above water level, since there would be no predicting just how high the new level would be once the reservoir water hit them. In the labs, all were keeping one eye on the news, the other on the shimmering blackness outside and below. Several students were on their portables, making calculations and perusing the online maps of the Science complex area.

"If there's anyone still at the Grub, they're in danger now! Same for the boat house – and probably Faculty House will have to move everyone up to the third floor," Bobbi Bayne announced, looking up from her screen. The officers assured them that everyone should have been moved from the outlying buildings by now. Saavik shook her head, remembering something from the transmissions they had heard over that past few hours.

"No, there _are_ people at the Grub, and if there is not an evacuation squad there now, they are still waiting. They did not confirm that they had been picked up." This was true. Aghast, the students raced to the windows facing towards the restaurant, trying to see lights. There were none.

The roaring increased as the flood water rolled into the Science complex. Even the solid lab building seemed suddenly less safe. Water could be heard breaking in those windows that had not been left open; it gurgled uncomfortably close in the stairwell. Lifts, of course, were not working and several students who had been courting danger on the first floor had just burst in, terrified, barely making it in ahead of the surge of water. Outside, the level reached to well above the upper sill of the first floor windows.

The Security crew chief made a decision. "Keep talking to our central. Try and find out what happened to the boats that were supposed to go to the Grub. Make sure they send us _some _backup – we're going out!"

There was a cheer. Bobbi looked up. "They're just _now_ getting boats out here – they say there was an accident with the skimmer team they sent out earlier, and then they got tied up rescuing a swamped boat crew up by the reservoir, and only _now_…" She showed the Security man the screen news display. He cursed softly and tapped his communicator.

"It's O.K., Jess," Security Central replied, "we're on this, go and rendezvous with the crew; the positioning locators are working. Gail and Siddwith are on board."

The two officers would take the three oldest student volunteers along, leaving room for eight to ten refugees in the boat. Shulamith, Shaji, and Joam Pretou jumped to their positions, but the rest decided to be prepared, if another craft came along, to join the rescue. Until then, they would stay put.

They watched the lightly manned skimmer disappear beyond the range of the building's outside lights. They were fortunate in still having power in the lab rooms. Through the storm they could occasionally see distant lights that marked the location of other buildings.

Now the students were restless; the reports they were receiving on their portables had no mention of deaths or serious injuries, but there had been considerable property damage and a massive redirection of personnel. "Just get those boats where they're needed!" one frustrated student shouted. It was obvious that the young people were chafing under the confinement.

Rakman Nu asked quietly, "Wasn't there a boat tied at the other side of the building? Over by the Faculty House side?" There was an enthusiastic rush to see. Leaning out cautiously, the wiry Gobie Dal ignored the sheets of rain that soaked him and looked along the wall.

"I see – _two_ of them! One must've been tied up too short; it's half full of water. Let's get the other one in, anyway." He was quickly assisted by at least four pairs of hands and hooves, and the pale light revealed a medium-sized skimmer.

Two of the students let themselves down into the craft and began bailing with a couple of waste containers, while others ran to another window to snag the swamped boat. It was only a small rowboat, but the oars were still in it. It would do to rescue two or three people at least! "Get busy bailing this one," Dibrat ordered, and although the rescue groups were supposed to be limited to those over sixteen, Saavik and Luine somehow wound up in the smaller boat, clad in some hastily-found rain gear, scooping out water. A boy they did not know was adjusting the line by which the rowboat was secured to the window frame. The skimmer was ready by now; Dibrat and a Vulcan boy were getting the friction-engine started, and others were calling encouragement.

"Come _on!_" Dibrat cried finally, "Sovian and me – and you – " and he waved at a strapping Andorian female, "Fraki, right? Come on, this one's ready! We'll go 'round the building and sweep our portable light over the whole area."

That left the rowboat. The human boy, Ted Alvarez, did not seem to care that his bailers were not members of a rescue team. "Need one more!" he called. "Got two to row, need another for rope work!" He was very businesslike and checked over the portable lights as he spoke. Someone dropped down into the boat and Ted cast off the line. Many hands reached out the window to push them on their way.

In the exterior light from the building, Saavik saw that the fourth person was Tesat. She could have given them away as underage, but she did not. Saavik and Luine each managed an oar and headed the small boat away from the labs in the direction their friends had gone. The Laboratories quickly grew gray and distant-looking behind them and then vanished completely. Ted used his light, playing it over the roiling water. Only swirls and eddies were to be seen, and branches carried along by the power of the escaping water. They kept in a generally straight line, the two boats bobbing in water constantly agitated by rain and wind. Between them and their destination were no buildings, no landmark structures, nothing but black, black water.

--

The Grub stood, but water had risen to within a meter and a half of the ceiling. The boys and girls called out constantly to keep in touch with each other. The bumping and scraping of the floating benches and tables was the most disconcerting of the noises; the most welcome was the sound of the skimmer that really _must_ be coming for them soon. The few who had had portables with them had lost them in the scurry to get to higher places, so no one had a clue if or when a rescue party had been sent, what was keeping it, when it would get here… As Cran Pike had suggested, each non-swimmer was tied by belt or sash or torn-off sleeve to the waist of someone who could swim. As long as the building held, they could use the wall fixtures as anchors. In the dark, they were very careful of any unnecessary movement – once a foot- or handhold was lost, it would be hard to regain. As far as Pike could tell, everyone was as safe as could be.

Even Paul Loman had swallowed his panicky urges and was clinging by his hands to some of Brownie's upper shelves. There had been a few seconds of regret and a few wistful sighs as dozens of lovely bottles of Kentaur beer were swept off them, to give them all some extra handholds. Cran had Gunnar firmly by the belt; Selena kept her steady arm wrapped around Gus and was consoling him with whispered endearments. It was now a matter of waiting.

Finally! A skimmer, then another, bumped against the outside wall of the Grub. Through the dark came loud shouts and anxious questions, and lights criss-crossed the inside of the large room, showing them all just how far up the water really was – an eerie sight: the moving, liquid floor reflecting back golden lamplight, too pretty a sight to reconcile with their grave danger.

"Better come out really fast," the Security woman warned. "This place doesn't look like it'll stand much longer."

Garley Brown was inclined to protest and defend the solidity of his establishment, but thought better of this. The Security people went to work immediately. Since the first skimmer could not fit through the Grub's front window, one officer positioned herself just inside the frame and another swam along with a safety line and a buoy until he was at arm's length from her. Then he reached the first knot of students with the buoy. "The idea is to get two of you out at a time… not too quickly, now… but let's go!"

It worked well. The first boat took eleven of them and withdrew to a ten-meter's distance, while the backup skimmer from the labs moved to take its place. Jess Warner and his partner, the Andorian Axan, used the student volunteers as relays to swim their buoy in and took out nine more refugees, including Gus and Selena and Brown – who had wanted to be the "last man out" but was firmly propelled towards the buoy by Cran Pike. The boat could not take more. Jess was about to explain about the reinforcements he had called in, when he uttered an oath of consternation.

"By all the sacred – _That's_ not a Security launch – it's some of those damned kids! We _told_ them to stay in the lab building!"

"Don't argue." Shulamith had good eyes. "It's Sovian… and it looks like Dib… they can pick up these other kids before the next skimmer gets here!"

There was no denying that. Sovian maneuvered his craft close to the window as he had seen the other pilots do, and his crew of Fraki and Dibrat and Gobie got ready to do like the adult rescuers, getting their line and buoy ready. "How many?" Sovian called into the dark building. He used the light, found and counted five faces: five more or less frightened students clinging to wall sconces and shelves; five lives suddenly entrusted to his care. "We have room for all of you," he assured them calmly. "Are there any more in there? Anyone missing?" On receiving a negative reply, the Vulcan floated the buoy forward while Dibrat played out the line. Fraki and Gobesh held the skimmer steady against the outside of the structure.

The building shifted abruptly, and the young Vulcan's voice became as anxious as he would probably ever permit it to become. "It will not hold, hurry!" He saw Stebit and Cran urging a smallish boy to let himself drop into the water.

"You will be picked up immediately, Paul." Stebit was using all the tones and subconscious methods of persuasion he owned, to no avail. "Go in, Paul."

"_He_ won't," a girl's voice cried despairingly. "I'll go, if he won't." She splashed into the water, found it over her head, and began to thrash. Sovian snagged her by an arm, dragging her in back of him rather roughly. Dibrat passed her on to the outside, and the others helped her into the skimmer. Meanwhile, little Gunnar Andresson, not any kind of swimmer, simply jumped in and let himself float., hoping to encourage Paul to do the same. It had the opposite effect. Paul hung back, though Pike had him firmly by the elbow.

And then the structure seemed to lift effortlessly from its foundation. With a deafening crack and a shudder that ran through the walls and the water and the people inside, the building swung in a slow, stately arc, still anchored at one corner, the roof and walls warping and tearing. From the rescue boats people looked on horrified as their lights showed Sovian and Dibrat reaching for hands still stretched toward them. Two were caught, and in the boat Fraki and Gobie stayed close, keeping their wits about them. They were able to drag Gunnar aboard, then Pike, though with more difficulty, for the older boy was nearly unconscious, crimson welling from above one ear where some debris had struck him.

One corner of the building still held tenuously. Fraki directed her people. "Two are in there, I think – I hope they hung on! Go in one more time… careful…." Cautiously, as their partners played out the ropes, the Vulcan and the Tellarite pushed back toward the dangerously unbalanced death trap. They called out. Stebit had emerged, half-swimming awkwardly from the window opening. He had swallowed much water and could barely speak, but as the rescuers supported him he managed to gasp that his arm had been broken, and he had been forced to let go of Paul Loman.

The other boats had already gone into flanking positions, looking out for floating debris, hoping to catch sight of Paul. The water's current drew toward the south, and wreckage from various smaller buildings swept away near the dam had been sailing past all during the rescue. They had to hope that Paul had caught onto some piece large enough to support him, and that he had not been knocked out.

It was then that the boat rowed by Saavik and Luine appeared. Tesat called out in a strong, carrying voice, "Room for more, over here!"

"Fan out! Go downstream, or whatever you call it! There's a kid adrift somewhere in your direction!" Security officer Jess Warner hoped Paul was no longer inside that splintered building, or already sucked under by the current. He was sick with dread; surely he could not have foreseen that the Grub would "go" at just that time, but he _had_ let these students slip out of his control, and no Security person was aboard that rowboat. If the boy drowned, he knew what people would say… never mind what he would do to himself.

There was a whoop from one of the boats. Lights from all the craft immediately searched the area around it. There, indeed, was a small head, and two arms wrapped around a piece of wreckage. The hold did not seem secure. Paul Loman with his fear of water was not a good candidate for prolonged immersion. Sovian gently nudged his boat closer. "Get him, Dibrat, get him _now_."

The Tellarite was poised in the starboard with the line and buoy, but hesitated just long enough. Paul's head submerged for a moment; he came up choking and crying, looking straight at his roommate, knowing that the hesitation had been too convenient. Sovian, however, had not noticed. "Hang on, Paul! We are coming right back around!" Gunnar yelled. They turned, but Paul had disappeared again, only to pop up downstream. A kind of eddy had caught him, spinning him around and casting him farther away.

With a mighty effort Luine and Saavik arrowed their small boat toward the struggling boy, cutting in from the side. Tesat, on her knees in the port side of the crossbench, did not have a line or a buoy. "I am going to lean out. Row closer. I will grab him." Ted leaned to starboard to balance her. Saavik turned the boat – _how had she learned to use an oar? This would remain a mystery to her for the remainder of her life_ – and Luine marked time with her oar. The current drove them up to Paul. Only one arm and the gasping, terrified face showed. He was losing his hold on the bit of flotsam that had kept him up so far. Tesat's whole body was relaxed, poised for the lunge. She seemed not to hear the shouts of encouragement and caution from the other boats.

The Romulan launched herself way out. For a moment, Saavik thought she would succeed in hooking Paul's arm and bringing him up. But the craft had shifted slightly and Tesat was overbalanced. She hit the water hard but came up effortlessly, grasping for the gunwale and missing it. She turned and swam the few strokes to Paul's side.

Paul Loman was beyond rationality, beyond recognizing a rescuer. He flailed his arms, beating the water and Tesat's shoulders and everything within reach. Tesat made up her mind quickly. She clouted Paul on the side of the head with her fist, and grabbed his wet jacket tightly, pulling him back toward the boat.

The wind had risen again. Saavik and Luine maintained the boat's position. As Tesat came alongside, Saavik shipped her oar and reached for the Romulan's hand. She was strong and was able to lend Tesat enough support for the older girl to get a better grip on Paul's limp body.

Ted and Luine both leaned out to the opposite side as Saavik stretched both arms over to help Tesat. Together they hauled the boy aboard; then with a mighty effort the Vulcan pulled her fellow-rescuer over the side. Once in the rowboat, Tesat did not yield to the temptation to flop down in exhaustion, but said grimly, "We must get this boy over to the others."

But the skimmers had already reached them. Voices were raised and instructions barked by Security. Somehow an officer was handed into the rowboat and he had a rain poncho to wrap around Paul. Together, the four boats and their soaked and numbed passengers and crew headed though the blackness and the rain. It was eerie to see familiar outlines and landmarks obliterated like this. The only structures between the late lamented Grub and the other side of the Main were the two pavilions, their visible parts making them look like stubby-legged tables standing on the water. Ahead of them were the dark shapes of the science classroom buildings and – thank God – behind those, the infirmary, its lights ablaze and welcoming.

--

So far, the medical staff had received a few casualties which arrived in launches from Security pickups. There had been few enough that none of the premed students were given anything to do except fetch supplies, change linens, and help with record-keeping. But an approaching party of boats from the south announced itself with shouts and hails, and people crowded to the windows to see the shadows resolve themselves into four shapes, each with a light in its bow.

"Over here! To this window!" Tor Srimandan waved from the best-lit window. The boats changed direction. Doctors Saines and Ub'reaan had joined the group by now.

"How many injured?" Saines called out.

"Three need help, that's all we know." Warner answered. He brought his craft to the side, to allow the ones carrying Cran Pike, Stebit, and Paul to have first access to the window.

Pike was semiconscious, still bleeding heavily. He was laid on the floor, and then the Vulcan was helped into the room. Stebit held his smashed arm gingerly with his good hand, but betrayed no sign of pain. His skin was pale, however, and he permitted T'Lemmi to walk him off for treatment. Tesat and Saavik wrestled an apathetic and coughing Paul Loman through the window. The Tellarite-human was then carried unceremoniously over Tor's shoulder to one of the emergency treatment cubicles hastily rigged up during the evening.

Now Jess Warner put his foot down. "_All_ of you students are staying here. I don't care how good you feel. I have enough people for one more patrol boat, and I expect reinforcements. Your job is _over_. I want everyone to remain here," he repeated. "get dry and warm, and if you have the slightest injury, get it looked at. Hear me?"

Actually, there was no need to give this order. The student rescuers were immensely grateful that they were no longer needed. The boats were neatly tied up and the rest of the kids climbed into the safety of the infirmary. For the first time in hours, they all got a good look at each other as they stood in the room, dripping, muddy, some bloodstained, all of them disheveled and exhausted to the core.

"It's all right," Dr. Saines soothed, squeezing Gus Smiths' shoulders as the boy suddenly broke into sobs. "It's all right, children."


	37. Chapter 37: A Resolution

Chapter 37: A Resolution

His eyes were giving him unpleasant impressions: two Tellarite nurses, two air-hypos, two sets of hands turning his head to the side when he was wretchedly sick to his stomach. In all his life Cranston Pike had not felt so awful. His head pounded despite all the drugs he was sure they were giving him. Finally, the world seemed to resolve itself into _one_ of everything, and there seemed to be sunlight on the wall from an open window. Daryann Tol stood at his bedside, her pink crest flaring in relief.

"Ah - Cranston. You are awake. I shall get the nurse." When she reappeared, she was accompanied by a different nurse – not the Tellarite – who checked his dressings and nodded sagely.

"W-what's happened? Did everyone get out all right?" Cran was only vaguely remembering how he got here. He was ready to jump out of bed in his agitation to know. He realized it might be _days_ after the flood, for all he knew. "What day is it?"

The nurse said, "Why don't I let your visitor in? You can ask _him_ all the questions." He took the readings from the diagnostic bed's display above him on the wall, spoke a brief entry into the audiochart, and gave him a broad smile as he left.

Tor Srimandan rushed in, relieved. "Whoa, Cran, you had us going last night, but it looks like you'll live, you old space bum." He perched on the edge of a cabinet and gave Cran a professional once-over glance.

"_Is_ everyone all right? Everyone from the Grub? I don't remember anything after…"

"Sure you don't. You got clonked by a falling piece of something hard when the Grub came apart. Everyone got out, yeah. Looks like they'll all be O.K." He briefly told him about Stebit's arm which, under treatment with human orthopedics and Vulcan healing techniques, was already mending well. The healer Sunek had, unfortunately, not been at this infirmary but at another one on the planet. "But we had Shules, his assistant, and T'Lemmi got to help some, too, with the healing trance." Tor sounded proud of his friend and Cran grinned, knowing that _anything_ about T'Lemmi was admirable in Tor's eyes.

Then Tor gave the story of Paul's rescue, not omitting the part that he had heard from Sovian and a few others – how Dibrat had seemingly prolonged Paul's struggle in the water to the point where the younger boy had nearly drowned. "He was pulled in by Tesat and Saavik, and it looks all right for him. He was mostly just scared half to death."

Tor then explained how much work there was to be done, now that the rain had stopped and the warm sunshine was bringing out the rescue crews in Science, Social Science, and Arts complexes, hunting for some people who were still missing. The same search was in progress in the Business and History complexes further north, where flash flooding had also put many lives in danger. As far as Tor knew, there were perhaps forty to fifty people unaccounted for. Almost everyone had some major cleaning-up to do as well. After locating missing friends, getting _some _part of Akadem back to normal was on the top of everybody's list for the day.

Cran Pike pronounced himself ready to get up and join in some useful activity. "No, you don't," Tor said in alarm. "I'm not a doctor _yet_, but I say you don't move. Dr. Saines said maybe tomorrow. Or do you want me to go get that nice nurse Dassi to come and give you an enema?"

"You drive a hard bargain," grumbled Pike. He settled his throbbing head back onto the pillow.

"There are more people who want to see you. I'll send them in. Just _stay put._"

--

Saavik and Luine satisfied the medical staff that they had suffered no ill effects, and immediately called Carinne at Jenner House to report that they were safe. There was still a waist-deep river between the infirmary and their dormitory, and no boats available just for casual travel. Carinne persuaded them that there was no reason to come back that morning. Since the girls, like everyone else from last night's rescue party, were feeling quite tired, they joined their fellow-students on light salvage detail. By Dr. Saines' orders they had all been kept in bed until 1000 hours and then fed an enormous breakfast. Thus fortified, the students set to assessing damage and starting to clean up a bit, since the water had receded about a meter overnight and during the course of the morning. It was a welcome change from classes for most of them.

They donned coveralls and safety hats and set to work under the direction of an Akadem civil engineer who had been dropped at the building from a hoverpatrol. "We're checking every building from top to bottom as soon as possible, to make sure the water hasn't undermined the foundation and make sure all the stress factors have been well handled." Zack Borras was all business. He and his engineers were spread pretty thin under these circumstances; he was glad for some willing hands, even if they were only students. He had plenty for them to do, especially these bright science complex kids… after they cleaned out all the mud. That came first. He would check back after all the water was out of the ground floor.

Saavik and two others helped to check power packs and wall circuits, and to record damage to electronics that they had not been able to move to safety. Selena Dombratty was in charge and gave them the engineer's directions. "Borras said to go ahead – he gave me access to the circuit and power-load data, said we'd probably have it done before the official maintenance engineers get here." She grinned, loving the responsibility. The girls worked side by side. Saavik did not find the notorious Selena quite as outrageous as school rumor had depicted her; what she saw was an extremely competent engineering student. She did talk far too much, but she worked as she did so. They were soon joined by Tesat and Gus and Corvei, whose assignment was to salvage equipment, and by others who were scraping mud from the walls.

Inevitably, the students talked about their common experience of the night before. The doctors' prognoses for Stebit, Cranston, and Paul were recounted in detail; then someone asked, "Hey, anyone seen Lefty?"

Gus snorted. "I have. He's acting insulted, staying over in the nurses' station… as if he'd be any use there."

Ted Alvarez scraped vigorously. "He _can't_ pretend we didn't see him… Sovian didn't, but Fraki and Gobie and everyone in our boat did. He held back, by God, and he didn't _do_ anything. He would've let Paul drown."

"You know how things are between them," Selena pointed out. "It's no secret Dib hates him. I'm just surprised he hasn't tried to do something to Paul before now." There was a chorus of murmured agreement, with only Corvei demurring.

"I don't know how you can be so sure, Ted. After all, didn't you see how good he was at giving orders, how hard he worked rescuing people? He's no coward."

"No, no one said he was," Selena argued.. " Not where anyone else was concerned. Corvei, he froze up and the kid would've drowned if Tesat and Saavik and the others in Ted's boat hadn't been there."

At this point Saavik wished they had not mentioned her name, or Tesat's, either. She wished her own thoughts were not drifting significantly from Dibrat's hesitant behavior, to her own at Tesat's hearing. (_Only, you __did__ act,_ she told herself._ You did not let Tesat come to harm._) It _was_ different; there was no logical connection between the two character flaws. She glanced covertly at the Romulan, who was prying warped, loose paneling from a wall where it might present a hazard. Tesat did not look up from her task, nor did she seem at all to acknowledge either Saavik's presence or the conversation in which they had been mentioned. However, it was different now between them…

… Last night, as they waited to be checked by the medical staff, they had sat side by side on a couch in the emergency area. Tesat had said, without preamble, "It was irresponsible of me to allow you and Luine to ride in that boat. You had no rescue work training and could have lost your own lives due to my oversight."

"Everyone participating was in danger," Saavik had responded. She noted Tesat's tone had been conversational if a bit abrupt, with not a hint of contempt or rancor.

The Romulan had pushed wet hair from her face. "You two rowed well. We would not have reached Paul in time but for that fact."

_Why, she is complimenting me_, Saavik realized, not knowing how to respond. "It was illogical of me to attempt to row; I have done it only twice before. Perhaps I only imitated Luine's much more proficient style and fell into the pattern that way."

Tesat had not smiled, but Saavik had sensed amusement behind her sarcasm: "No false modesty for a Vulcan, remember? People do many illogical things under pressure." Some of the sting disappeared with the almost kind concession. "You will find that to be true in Star Fleet also, I think."

Beside her, Saavik had been more and more at a loss for words. It could not be that after one evening of working together to save lives all dispute and enmity between them could have been washed away. That would be an insult to her intelligence. She was forced to conclude that the difference rested in the fundamental way that Tesat regarded her. The Romulan did not _like_ her any better; but Tesat now respected her, or at least was reserving judgment on her. That, Saavik reflected, was a state with which she could be content, although in her own mind she was not yet ready to forgive herself for her lapse.

Tesat's next words had been in Romulan – not the common speech, but the language spoken between equals. Saavik knew the importance of this, and for a moment sat without turning her head. Tesat expected an answer. It was disconcerting to Saavik to hear the greeting that was a sign of formal reconciliation: "My open hand to you, sister."

She took a deep breath and brought the words over her tongue with great difficulty, words in Romulan, but the phrase Vulcan: "Peace and long life, Tesat'_aan_". There was an enigmatic gleam in the other's gray eyes at the form of her name that would have been used by a Romulan comrade. No more was said before Saavik in her turn was called in to see the healer.

Shules had told her to sit down while he ran the standard medical scanner over her. There was no obvious need for any special Vulcan techniques, Shules remarked, satisfied that she was unhurt, and got ready to make his log entry. He had given her an odd look, just the slightest hint of confusion over a set of facts that did not fit his expectations. He had run the scan once more, checked the calibrations, run it a third time, then tapped rapidly on the desk computer, as if wanting to satisfy himself by checking some facts.

And of course Saavik had known, then, how Sunek – and now Shules – knew of her Romulan half. It had never occurred to her that a medical record had followed her here from _Stanek_. She was so rarely ill that she didn't give her health a second thought. Of course those records had been transferred here to Akadem; of course the Vulcan physicians would have familiarized themselves with the medical status of any new Vulcan student. Of course. _Anyone_ checking her metabolic readings must know they were not "normal" for a Vulcan, that there was mixed DNA; the _Stanek_'s chief medical officer had also included in the file, no doubt, an explanation of why this would be so. It made her angry for a moment; it was something more over which she had no control. Still, she should have anticipated it, and the same sort of information was probably in her psychological file as well! How Sunek must have sneered, right from the start! She looked straight at Shules now, and saw no clues to his thoughts in his countenance. He dismissed her politely, commenting only that there was nothing wrong with her.

She had gone out to see whether Tesat was done with her checkup, but the Romulan was still being examined. Luine was there, however, ready to go off to bed. The students were being accommodated in empty patient rooms. Luine stopped her in the hallway.

"Saavik, Tesat is O.K."

"She is not hurt, no."

"What I mean is … she's _all right._ I don't really hate her. She didn't kill Gien."

… So it was. And Saavik realized that even if she continued to blame herself for her lapse, Tesat was not going to do so. There was_ so_ much to being an adult. Saavik felt that she had learned some of it, sometime last night, at the oar of a lifeboat.


	38. Chapter 38: The Stranger

Chapter 38: The Stranger

After inspection teams had gone over the flooded buildings and grounds the Akadem Committee announced its official decision: classes would resume in seven days; until then, every effort was to be made to clean up interiors and begin removing debris accumulated outdoors. A repair crew had been at work from the instant the rain ceased, to put up a temporary dam. The small river that had carved its bed through the terrain downhill from the dam would be left alone for the present and the makeshift dam was supposed to divert some water from that stream into a tiny new lake away from any of the complexes.

Meanwhile, of the forty-six people missing the morning after the flood, thirty-one were found in an old faculty housing unit between Science and Social Science complexes, a house with aged innards, whose communications and power had been wiped out as soon as the old walls got wet. It had been used all along as a meeting place for the "Alexander's Anachrons", a group of ancient history devotees who held Greek-style philosophy seminars there without benefit of personal electronics…The students and three faculty mentors had been trapped by the weather during one of those sessions and had spent the entire crisis happily arguing about the _Politics_ of Aristotle while Security worried about their whereabouts. Others, not so sheltered, had been rescued during the day from the debris to which they had been clinging, or had washed up on higher ground, or had been able to get to shallower water to wait it out. That made eight more. Five were rescued from trees.

But there were, according to the news vids, three fatalities related to the flooding. Security discovered a fifteen-year-old Deltan boy buried in debris between an Arts complex building and a shed; apparently he had been injured by tree limbs and had no doubt drowned while unconscious. An elderly faculty member had been found dead, floating in the water behind her residence flat near Science; at the infirmary Dr. Saines had attributed her death to a myocardial infarction, a heart attack.

A third body provided one more unexpected link in the chain of events that had held the attention of most of the planet's students for so many weeks. It had turned up beside the monocar line, not near any of the stations but out in the country. The corpse – a human male – bore no visible identification, but when taken to the infirmary for a bioscan the Akadem employee records showed a "hit", and several nurses and other employees knew the dead man's face.

"_That's_ your Harry Umberto, the guy you were trying to find, y'know, after they found that Brucker in the anatomy lab last week," a nurse told the Security team that rushed to the scene. "Check your holos again, you can't miss it." Cal Tanner slogged through the mucky mess from Science Beta and made a positive identification of his former co-worker.

"Haven't seen him since we let him go. I thought he'd gone off-planet; he always did want to go back to Secunda Indi or some cheap retirement place like that." All this, however, did not go very far towards solving the essential questions: Did Harry Umberto place Steven Brucker into the deep stasis in Science Beta, and why?

With the flood already two days into history and the prospect of several days off from mental labor, most of Akadem's students pitched in to work, indoors and out. Saavik and Luine returned to their quad to be fussed over briefly by Carinne, who claimed that she had not been _too _worried about them. Still, Saavik sensed obvious relief in her manner and her greater than usual motherliness. Neill was nowhere in sight; she had spent the flood in the library and was doing her cleanup duty right there. She called in to tell her quadmates this; Luine stared at the screen after she had signed off and made only one comment.

"Too bad that nothing but work means anything to her." Somehow, Neill seemed a smaller threat to her now. Carinne had noticed a change in her, and had been lavish in praise upon hearing of her young quadmate's part in the Grub rescue.

"We'll be going to the cleanup stations as soon as we eat," Carinne told them, pulling her friends back to the present. "Jaime wants all of us on this level to work on cleaning downstairs with the sonic scrubbers and the other floors are supposed to help over by the boat pavilions. But you two deserve a rest… unless you _want_ to work!"

"Certainly I do." That was a strange question; Saavik could not conceive of lounging around while work needed to be done. Luine also anted to get outside into the sunshine. They joined a group of students from their dormitory and the faculty and staff who had come to help, greeting acquaintances whom they had not seen in days.

Tesat went with a work gang to Science Gamma and found her roommate Rufia there as well. Tor and T'Lemmi and most of the premedical students were released from their emergency medical duties. By the second day, there were only eight casualties still in their infirmary.

Someone had wisely remembered that children and adolescents need to eat, especially when they are doing physical labor. Although there were food synthesizers in each building, Akadem provisioners designated the infirmary in each complex as a central meal station. Students in the Science area were glad for the break, and soon adopted their infirmary as a social relay center as well. It would never replace the Grub, of course… but Gobie had already had it straight from the horse's mouth: Brownie was planning to rebuild.

Mentioning the Grub started off the subject of the rescue, which had not yet failed as a topic of interest. As knots of students grouped themselves around the tables and the synth machines and the counter (where _real_ cooks from Provisioning were dispensing _real _food), the drama on the treacherous waters was played and replayed. Some had been in the Science Alpha and Beta buildings and had been having a reasonably cozy time, even opening the windows to let rockvid from their portables blast out into the stormy night. There had been no boats for them, and no need for any, and they had been stranded without being in danger. But they admitted now that they had turned off the music and watched with anxiety and curiosity as the four boats bearing the Grub refugees passed between the buildings. "It was weird," one remarked. "I guess I didn't believe it was all that serious, until I saw how exhausted those guys looked under our lamps. I thought that some of the people in the boat were dead, actually. Talk about getting the creeps."

Corvei Marchese held the floor in his work group, being the only one among them who had actually participated. "They came and got us out at just about the last minute; those boats were the best thing I ever saw in my life!" He retold the dramatic appearance of the student volunteers, setting off a new discussion of Akadem Security's screw-up in not sending an adequate number of skimmers. But everyone wanted to know about Dibrat dei Haxrash, now that his hatred for his half-Tellarite companion had manifested itself in such evil fashion.

"I talked with Paul; they'll let him out right after they make sure he isn't getting pneumonia. He's not _saying_ anything about Lefty, but he knows what happened," Corvei recounted. "He says he was just about to give up when he was grabbed, and then he doesn't remember anything else."

"Tesat knocked him out! That's what Ted says," Charley Zoromir declared. His clutch-sisters nodded in tandem. "She was having trouble with him and just hammered him a good one and heaved him into the boat. Ted said he'd never seen anything like it."

"That Tesat. She's pretty good, huh…." There was general agreement.

Corvei added, "Even if Paul will never appreciate how awesome it is to be knocked around by a really strong woman…" Some of the girls around him were less amused than he would have liked, so he dropped the subject.

Naturally enough, from the topic of Tesat the group moved on to talking about the sensational find of the day, the body on the monocar line. "Do you suppose _he_ killed that Brucker guy and put him on ice?" Abe Davits asked. "I knew Umberto when he worked in Bio, but he never looked really dangerous to me."

Geneva Zoromir shook her head scornfully. "Nah – I'll bet whoever killed Brucker killed Umberto, too, and we haven't heard the last of it." She and her sister Nadine reveled in mysteries when they weren't collecting trashy romance vids. "Why, I'll bet that –"

"- that everyone has a different entertaining speculation about all this, and half of that is _way_ off course." This cheerful interruption came from Cran Pike, who had just come along, wearing ordinary clothes but still with his head bandage and infirmary scan badge. Someone drew up a chair for him and all waited for the point of his interruption.

"As you may know, I've been stuck with lots of time on my hands, and consequently have memorized the vid news for the entire planet, verbatim, and probably most of the galactic news, too… So, I just heard it."

"Heard WHAT? This is maddening!" screamed Nadine. Cran, knowing her as an accomplished gossip, drew out the suspense on purpose, teasing her. "Never mind!" she smoldered, "I'll just go and log in to the –"

Pike held up his hand in surrender. "No, no, I'll tell you. About Harry Umberto. Security made some more inquiries: what he was still doing here after he was fired from the bio lab, where he was living, all that. They found that he'd moved to Kelath, on the other side." This was one of the two townships located on Akadem that were not part of the school; they were inhabited mainly by retired or temporary employees, as well as some outsiders not connected with the institution. "He had a small flat and the neighbors never saw much of him. They said he hadn't been seen for several days, since before the flooding, and recently there had been a couple of visitors nobody recognized."

"_More_ unidentified characters," Charley muttered. "Any more stuff like this goes on around here, some parents won't want to send their precious babies here anymore." There was laughter and a command to shut up, while Cran Pike continued.

"So, Security went through his place this morning and found a couple of interesting things." Pike leaned back and accepted a beaker of Kentaur. "Thanks. Anyway, Umberto left a letter disk behind – something he meant to send to someone, or maybe use as leverage. Supposedly it gives information about Brucker and some other things from the Tesat case. I guess we'll find out later. And – it turns out our friend Harry was a busy little guy, collecting guess what? - exotic weapons."

"Well, everybody has to have a hobby."

"Sure, Gunnar, sure, but _what_ weapons? Romulan weapons, among others… are you catching on?"

"I suppose there was one missing?" Gaaru the Mominat ventured. "I suppose, I suppose that the little item that dispatched Gien Kai-Mekelen into the alternate galaxy will be found, will be found to complete a dinner set of eight?" The joking was macabre and a bit forced, but disguised the relief felt by all of them. The unresolved parts of the murder/espionage sequence really might fall into place at last.

Cranston Pike shrugged. He was getting tired, like his doctor had said he might. "So far, nothing said specifically about that, but that's what you have to think about, right?"

"Still leaves the question about who gave the first orders, who was behind Umberto… and also, how come he conveniently died after recording it all for posterity?" Corvei had the salient question there; each of them found that he or she had become much more skeptical and suspicious over the past weeks.

--

By evening, the Akadem authorities had released the content of Harry Umberto's last letter. They had also announced that the post-mortem on the former employee showed nearly toxic levels of corumadine, a sense-distorting rec-drug, in the man's blood, and enough buildup in the internal organs to indicate long-term use. The assumption was that Umberto had been caught by the flood waters while drugged, and had drowned while unable to flee to safety in that state. _Why _he had been on foot between the Science and Arts complexes, so far from where he lived, no one could guess.

However, the letter itself was enough to whet everyone's curiosity, and to resolve some remaining questions. In it, Harry Umberto confessed to having killed Steven Brucker after he came to believe that the latter was planning to go to the authorities with the part both of them had had in the recent crimes. Brucker had helped fabricate the case against Tesat with his help, and had killed Gien Kai-Mekelen using one of Harry's knives. Umberto spoke of substituting Brucker's body for a legitimately obtained anatomy specimen already in stasis, and of disposing of all of Brucker's effects along with the lab cadaver in an unattended flash furnace in the Arts complex.

What caused the greatest sensation was Umberto's identification of Kenyon Malevan, a notorious interstellar racketeer operating out of the Orion sector, as the moving factor behind the plan to pass Federation "secrets" through Gien to the Romulans. He also described the mobster's displeasure at Brucker's unwise choice of Romulan agent; apparently, Tesat's refusal had not been planned for. Umberto in turn feared that Brucker might spill the truth about the murder and the espionage attempt. When Tesat's nemesis Sarader Komack accepted Brucker's self-serving help in her own schemes, this had brought the _real_ plot a little too far out into the open. Even though there had been little chance of the confederates' identities ever being discovered, Malevan had not taken kindly to the undesirable publicity.

According to the letter, Dr. Komack had been trying to locate Steven Brucker since the last session of the Inquiry Board hearings. She had a pretty good idea who the man's contacts on Akadem might be and had, possibly, also figured out Umberto's own whereabouts. And someone with Sarader Komack's information-gathering instincts might even have had a hint of the ultimate connection with Malevan of Orion. So, Brucker had to go.

The letter confirmed a suspicion held by many, that Dr. Komack had readily accepted Steven Brucker's tale of Tesat's complicity in espionage, because she had been planning her own move against the Romulan student for quite a while. There was no comment from the Akadem Committee about further action against Komack, however. But the students who heard, saw, and devoured the news were in no doubt whatsoever. A fine smell of victory, of let-justice-be-done, was in the air; hardly a student stayed out of the speculation mill.

Tesat received the news with little comment, but with a great, undisguised relief. After the flood and this trial, she was ready for an ordinary, boring rest of the year.

Luine Kai-Mekelen had come to her quad to apologize for her persistent suspicions. Tesat had not been prepared for this, but remembered that humans had a hard time with the task of apology; gracious acceptance was the proper response on her part. Luine was young; and maybe, if suspicion towards Romulans and other alien beings was obliterated early in life, it _might_ be worth Tesat's effort – and that of other young Romulans – to learn to live with those of the Federation.

As for Luine, she walked back from Cochrane House to Jenner in thoughtful quiet. There was still time…

--

At the Faculty House offices, there was a considerable chill when Sarader Komack arrived to do some much-needed catching up. What with the damned flood, and Shulamith's quitting, there had been a sorry lapse in the routine lately. And while few of her colleagues had ever been over-friendly before, now that the little weasel Tesat was a damned planetary _hero_, the faculty were acting as if their dear associate Sarader Komack had leprosy. Well, she should not have been surprised.

On her terminal she quickly scanned her messages, and then called up the Current Contents file, tagging the articles she wished to save: a major review from _Annals of Military Science_ and several more from the _Arcturan Tactical Quarterly, Section B_. If there weren't going to be any classes, and her fellow-professors weren't speaking to her, she might as well do some reading. Damn them, anyway. She'd heard the rumors abut another hearing, this time for her dismissal, but Sarader Komack didn't believe it for a moment. _They should just try._ With what _she_ knew about some of _them_, they would quickly learn what an Admirals' daughter was made of!


	39. Chapter 39: Friends Have a Funny Way

Chapter 39: "Friends Have a Funny Way…"

It was surprising how quickly normal academic life resumed once the basic cleanup was done. Some classes were grouped together, with some stimulating results, as professors and students who did not usually meet were exposed to different teaching methods and points of view. The Akadem authorities officially commended students and faculty alike for their actions during the flooding; there were also unofficial commendations for some especially dedicated or valorous action or service. Among these latter were the pre-medical students, the rescue volunteers, and those who had kept lines of communication open during the worst of the crisis.

Saavik was preoccupied with a physics problem as she returned to the quad one afternoon and was somewhat impatient when Carinne intercepted her to hand her a sealed communication – a squarish gray envelope embossed with an intricate crest of stars, lines, and symbols she did not recognize. She really should get right to work on her terminal; Dr. Macmillan had left her with a definite feeling of inadequacy in her command of the section they were covering. Saavik did not tolerate deficiencies of any kind in her academic performance. Now she threw down her bag with less than Vulcan decorum and wondered what this document was about. Carinne grinned at her.

"Luine got one, too. Open it, will you? I'm curious."

The crest was subscripted with an odd, raised, unfamiliar writing, and underneath it in Standard romanics: _The Government Service of Tellar – Shai'diet stiDian ka Loman, Commissioner at Large._ Paul's mother? Saavik used the point of a scriber to slit the seal and withdrew the paper inside: not flimsy computer-copy style, but real, stiff Reobar paper, the kind favored by Vulcan calligraphers. She recognized it as the kind on which the _Stanek_'s captain, Stelo, had written out some Vulcan scripts for her when she was learning to write the language.

The letter was in Standard, actually written by hand. Shai'diet thanked Saavik "from spirit's depth" for her part in saving Paul's life. "Paul mentioned your name among those who rescued him from drowning during the recent flooding on your school planet. To a Commissioner on Tellar, the preserving of any citizen's life is a matter of great importance, and the one who performs such an action is treated with honor among us. To a mother, the saving of her only son's life means infinitely more. My consort joins me in expressing our feelings and our debt to you." And the signatures and personal seals of the Commissioner and of Dale Vladimir Loman were appended. Saavik folded the letter back into its envelope, acutely embarrassed. She saw Carinne's eyes on her, saw the humor in them, knew her roommate appreciated her discomfort.

"Saving life is logical," Saavik said at last. "There was no need to make an issue of it."

"Yes, there was!" Carinne turned severe. "You and Luine, and probably Tesat and Teddy Alvarez, too – _you_ represent something that _doesn't_ happen just anywhere and everywhere in the galaxy. To that woman and her people, it _is_ out of the ordinary. Not to make an unjust distinction – but the average Tellarite doesn't have altruism just flowing through his veins."

_That word again._ "But it wasn't altr –"

"_Think!_ To you, it wasn't altruism, it was logic. Maybe to someone else it would be reflex, or being scared spitless, or some other motivation. The Commissioner sent her precious son here to study _because _she saw the value of a prince mixing with every other kind of being in the galaxy… kind of a weird prince, if you ask me… doesn't seem to care about much besides chemistry and drinking beer… and what you and the others did, _that_ shows her and more skeptical Tellarites that she made the right decision."

The Vulcan could see this point, but – "I cannot take credit, since I would have done this for anyone else in the same need."

"Sure, you would have. But _she_ doesn't care about that so much… it was _her_ son you saved. Maybe, if you ever have a child, you may see that."

Children? Saavik nearly shuddered at the thought. Her own childhood had left her with no illusions about children or any romanticized notions about "innocent childhood"… and there had been in her own life no nurturing mother to stir in her a curiosity or desire to pass that behavior on to another helpless being. But she could not tell anyone, not even Carinne, how inapposite her statement had been.

"In any case," Carinne was saying, "you'll have to admit it's an honor. I just wonder what's going to happen to Lefty – to Dibrat – now. No one's hearing very much from his big mouth, and all of his 'friends' seem to have disappeared."

"This I do not understand. Humans are so eager and willing to embrace someone's cause without logic, no matter how disastrous, and so willing to abandon their so-called friends when their wrongs are exposed… How is Dibrat different now from what he was before?"

Carinne looked at her roommate with compassion. "He isn't. He is what he has been all along. Before, the others could overlook things and go along with his most idiotic ideas; he hadn't actually _done_ anything about them." She really did not know the right answer to Saavik's indictment of human behavior, and it made her unhappy to have to give a no-answer. "Saavik, people will be ready to overlook a lot, until it becomes impossible to ignore, until you can get hurt just be being associated with someone. Then, unfortunately, a lot of people, and not just human beings either, turn into false friends."

"Unfortunately." Saavik's judgment on humans was obvious from her voice. "I do not like Dibrat either, but I never pretended to. It seems that humans could spare themselves the mental exhaustion of such changes in opinion if they just chose their friends more logically."

"But you know better than that, Saavik. Friends have a funny way of choosing _you_, and logic doesn't have beans to do with it."

--

Tor picked his way among the piles of brush and other debris stacked neatly around the outer edge of the Main. He had spent the morning accompanying Sunek on rounds at the infirmary. Usually the pre-med students had this privilege only every three or four weeks, but Sunek had expressed the wish that groups of a half-dozen or more pre-meds enjoy a more regular exposure to the "real" world of the sick and injured. Ordinarily, with just a handful of patients in the infirmary at one time, "going on rounds" was a euphemism for helping the floor nurses inspect and repack equipment and supplies, watching for an occasional outpatient, and playing poker with the maintenance robot. However, today there were at least a dozen patients, and it had been a windfall for Tor and his companions. The sick were all Kantans and Mominata (not genetically related, strangely) who were all down with a _Viridia multiplexa_ bacillus, an extremely contagious, itchy, horrid-looking disease with such unattractive symptoms as grayish-green welts and patches all over the body, especially on the soles of the feet and the palms; a severe cold with wheezing and headaches; and extreme light sensitivity in the eyes. So the poor kids were confined to bed, in the dark, no books or vids allowed, and no visitors.

Tor had spent some time taking medical histories under Sunek's direction, concentrating on the three Zoromirs as his primary patients. Of course they had caught it from each other. It had taken more time than he anticipated to get all the facts straight and recorded in the form Sunek insisted upon. Everybody knew that it was just an exercise for the benefit of the pre-meds; the diagnostic beds coordinated with patients' personal files could have done the job in microseconds. In any case, the kids were miserable, and Tor had tried to cheer them up and feed them sips of water. Then Sunek had had all the students share their findings, and so the whole morning had been taken up.

Now Tor was on his way to the gym. He sure didn't feel like any physical activity today, but he'd been dopey and distracted and needed the exercise. Preoccupied as always by his thoughts and his discontent over the situation with T'Lemmi, Tor would have preferred to be alone in the gym. But there was Saavik practicing _ging-jo_ with a full set of holo-opponents; he sighed, did some warm-ups, and set his own holographic adversary to a decent starting level.

He worked on getting his fencing speed up to where it had been before the recent interruptions in his routine. He had to concentrate mightily to avoid having his foil knocked away by the holo-arm as he momentarily looked away from his bout to watch Saavik. _Not a time for girl-watching_, he chided himself. He recovered his swift grace after a few moments, circled the image, seeking to find openings to "touch" its sensitive light-field "skin". Whirling to the right, he felt the sting of the holofoil on his left shoulder. _That one would count_. The next move went better: Tor feinted with his right arm, and the image's sensors read his motion and countered with the proper defensive move – but the human had sidestepped in a low, crouched position and speared at the image from just above its blocking arm. A slight vibration jolted up his arm; he had scored a hit.

No time to savor this, however: the weapon arm sliced the air and he dropped and rolled free away just in time, as the amber beam of the "foil" passed through where his neck had been. Even to be hit by a light-weapon, and to suffer only a sting instead of a real, bleeding, possibly dangerous wound, was not pleasant. And it certainly did nothing for one's record. Personal practice records were stored in the fighter's computer banks and could be monitored by the ranking committee when the time came to match fencing partners in tournaments. Tor was usually among the top fighters, but knew that he would not remain there without additional suffering.

At speed Eight, his limits were tested. Only the Master of Akadem, Caryamandis's own teacher, the venerable Ruthvennian Zeze Bi (chemistry professor emeritus), had mastered Eleven. It was doubtful that the galaxy had ever produced anyone who could handle more than a slow Thirteen. Tor was able to take only a few minutes at this speed, and finally called, "Break!" The control mechanism halted the combat immediately. The boy bent double, streaming sweat, his entire body sore from the few weeks' neglect of his training.

Satisfied that his score was a good one for the challenge level (five hits for the hologram; three for him), Tor terminated his session and slumped on the nearest bench, gratefully peeling off his protective gear. He idly watched Saavik dealing with her holographic teammate and pair of opponents – this was a difficult martial art when all three of the other fighters were virtual – until he felt the need for the sonic shower. He stepped into its cleaning rays, letting the lamp warm him before he changed back into old work pants and shirt. There was no reason to stay longer, but he noticed that Saavik seemed to be finishing up also and decided to wait.

The Vulcan seemed surprised to see him still there when she emerged from her shower. Lifting an eyebrow, she observed, "You were fighting at a very high speed."

He could not help grinning. "Usually I train at Six or slow Seven. Maybe I did too much today…I'm beat."

She walked from the building with him and they went on in silence for a few minutes. He remembered their first meeting, in this same gym, with her grim and deadly _ahn-woon_ casting, as if she were bent on killing someone. He wondered how she was reacting these days to the praise she was receiving from various quarters for her actions on the night of the flood. He asked her as they turned a corner.

Saavik looked around before speaking, taking in the mounds of debris, the scarred trees, the muck still staining the walkways and the columns of the little pavilions. "I do not know what I think about it. There were so many others involved in the rescues, and I was not conscious of doing anything that others were not also doing."

"True enough. But not everyone was actually resolving a matter of life and death, and not everyone rescued was the son of a Federation bigwig." He had already heard about the letters of thanks from the Tellarite Commissioner to Saavik and the others in her boat. "And Tesat, too, I'll bet she's not making much of this."

"We have not discussed it." Saavik walked on with the human boy while wondering if she would ever have much to talk about with the Romulan, then asked, "How is T'Lemmi? I have not seen her lately."

Tor smiled ruefully. "T'Lemmi is the same as ever. She has an exciting future, a career that will probably take her to the top in the Vulcan Academy… and the _damnedest_ thing is that I can't make myself feel happy for her, because I won't be part of that life… Are you shocked, Saavik? You may tell me it's illogical, of course. I talked with her again, just this morning. She tries so hard, Saavik. She tries to talk to me as I were a Vulcan and understood everything… or she tries to talk to me like she thinks a human girl would."

Saavik considered this. They were now coming across the Main, which was still soggy with flood water in many places, and had to step carefully. "But she _is_ Vulcan, Tor, and if you attempt friendship you must understand that she cannot be anything else _but_ Vulcan."

"I don't know about that… I sometimes think that I can't really be human anymore, the way I've been involved with T'Lemmi and her culture… This morning I wanted to accuse her of letting me get too invested in her life and in dreams about a future with… _us_. But I didn't say it; she didn't have anything to do with my delusions, if I'm honest about it. Frankly, though, I don't care so much about 'my own people'. I haven't been near any of the places I _might_ call home in years, and I don't have a lot of emotional bonds to Earth, or Titan, or any of the Terran colonies. I'm going to spend my life in space. But to me, Vulcan has become more of a 'home' planet than any other."

"Would it be impossible for you to settle on Vulcan after all, and practice medicine among the non-Vulcans there?" Saavik knew from Spock that there was a growing number of these, and that in fact human and other alien physicians practiced on Vulcan. Tor seemed to shiver.

"I'm strong – I think – but not strong enough for _that_. I'm afraid that while T'Lemmi could certainly see me every day and continue believing we were just old friends, I would see _her_ and see only a woman I love and can't have." He sighed. "I'm pleading a case I've already lost. Aren't I? Never mind…"

The girl felt very uncomfortable. She did not understand it well, except to see that Tor was right in all likelihood. He would find living on Vulcan harder that he would losing the memories of T'Lemmi in the depths of space. To Saavik, Vulcan would similarly be no place of refuge: as long as her Vulcan parent remained unknown and unidentified, she would have no clan and no heritage; it would be equally difficult if the identity of the Vulcan parent _were_ known and the shame of her very existence were laid at the feet of the family's seniors. Like Tor, she had a real home in space but nowhere else. To Tor, however, she told none of this, and sensed that in any case it would have been cold comfort to him.

"Tell me, Tor… have you met the young male to whom T'Lemmi is bonded?"

"No! I just know his name, and I know that they have been acquainted since childhood. I can't make myself think about him too much; I don't want to end up hating him, for her sake." He stopped, toed aside a rock lying in his path on the grass. "If you don't want to hear any more about this, just say so."

The Vulcan girl was curious. "I am only wondering how easy you have found it _not_ to be… human, as you said. It would be logical to suppose that you would find that which is best in your nature, and follow that." In fact, Saavik found Tor to be as human as any she had known. Perhaps when alone with T'Lemmi he was more formal? More logical? She had said these last words to Tor and immediately realized how the statement applied just as much to her. She would need to take her own advice!

Tor was thinking about his answer. "It is my nature. I admire so much about Vulcan and its way of life, and I've found myself gravitating towards their philosophy and their outlook. I couldn't do without _some_ human things, though… I couldn't imagine never laughing or joking, or abandoning imagination or even small talk with friends. And if I have the choice, I always prefer spending my leisure time on something other than medical journals!" He grinned at Saavik. "Maybe I wouldn't be so good on Vulcan after all."

They had almost reached the science buildings with their piles of brush and loose boards and other objects deposited by the flood, lining the outside walls. Tor was headed back to the infirmary to retrieve some personal items he had left that morning, while Saavik turned to go on to Jenner House. "I guess you take the friends that come your way, Saavik. I've been pretty lucky that way, and I've got to be realistic. T'Lemmi is willing to be my friend and it seems mean of me to want all or nothing. It's _my_ problem, not hers."

He said goodbye to Saavik at the walk to the infirmary and watched her go on. She'd be another one like T'Lemmi, maybe… taking the illogical little surprises humans were full of, offering her own brand of friendship. There was something a bit different about her, though; Tor couldn't put his finger on it.

He gathered his wits about him, thinking more about his brief conversation with T'Lemmi earlier… realizing that the time had probably come to take what she was saying seriously. "Tor," she had said when he had asked one last time, almost because he felt he _had_ to, "Tor, it is only _you _who makes this a matter of absolutes. I have no intention of putting all my past behind me when I marry Skal. My parents, my brother, my friends will all remain so… if they choose to."

Well, _hell_, he thought. He would see about that. But he would probably love her always. And whatever he might want now, he had to hide it from her. She trusted him to understand and in his regard for her and her people, to accept.

Saavik, meanwhile, thought about Tor's dilemma from his point of view, something difficult to do, almost impossible if that meant she had to understand love, and the perversity of continuing love, when the intended person did not desire it. Strangely enough, her mind leaped to Spock. He had told her a little about his parents, once: that they had met on Earth and discovered a mutual affinity, purely by chance. Two people of such different cultures and mind-sets could not have had an easy time. Their very different species backgrounds could have set up insurmountable barriers, but somehow their communications had not become crossed or distorted; there had been some misunderstandings early on, but not about the basic facts of who felt what and for whom. Of course, Saavik would never pry into Spock's personal story, but she wondered anyway, what Spock could have learned in such a home that an ordinary full-Vulcan could not. She wondered if Spock's Vulcan father Sarek knew the meaning of "love", and whether Spock might explain it to her someday.

Maybe someone like Spock could explain to Tor also. Although the relationship with T'Lemmi could come to nothing, Tor might be able to see that their friendship was not only tied up with customs and ways that dictated emotional detachment. Had T'Lemmi truly _wanted_ Tor, there would have been ways (as Saavik was learning, by keeping eyes and ears open), especially on a far-off planet where adult supervision was often desultory and much less strict than on any homeworld. Perhaps the occasion would come up in the future for her to offer Tor the bare comfort of this thought.

And what he had said about friends… it had been Carinne's outlook, too. Friends were an accident. Unlike some humans, she resolved, she would not use that term lightly. This made her think of Dibrat and Paul again, and she pondered if Dib's misdeed had, in its essence, been graver than her own. She had been acclaimed for "heroism"; in her own heart the day of Tesat's hearing spoke against that. There was so much that depended upon chance, whim… and a certain willingness to turn a blind eye.

The back door of the House was standing open, and a fresh work gang was washing stonework. The weather was beautiful once more; the students were eager to let sunlight and warm breezes into their residence. Nodding to the many friendly greetings, Saavik took the steps three at a time, glad of her exhaustion after the workout. There were things to do – and she worked better when muscles had had the tension pounded out of them.

No one was at home in the quad. She pulled up to her compu/desk, adjusted the viewer to a comfortable angle, and resolved grimly to take no more poetry or other "creative" courses. This week's reading assignments included pre-Romantic Kosman and Ledaynian verse, It was going to be, as a human classmate had remarked, a "long day's journey into night". She might as well get started on the unpleasant task.


	40. Chapter 40: Holding Fast

Author's note: _Gentle reader, this concludes the_ _account of Saavik's introduction to formal education. A great galaxy now lies before her. May we all be so fortunate to find a place in it._

Chapter 40: Holding Fast

If anyone had told Saavik that near the end of only two Quarters on Akadem she would actually lay aside her studies to seek amusement, she would have reacted with scorn, and wrapped herself in a cloak of Vulcan frostiness. Exams were still several weeks away; students in general were not yet at the hollow-eyed, stayed-up-all-night stage. Still, a vague unease was in the atmosphere, which Saavik understood much better now than she had at the end of her first Quarter. For herself, she had few worries: she had been studying all along. Physics, ethics, literature and poetry, and her elective astrocosmology course – all were demanding to some degree. But she realized that she must balance these with times for proper rest and exercise. It was in this spirit that she accepted Carinne's and Luine's coaxing to attend a Midsummer Festival in the park between Science and Social Science complexes.

"You can't study _all_ the time," Carinne had said mildly, seeing her roommate at her desk for the sixth – or seventh, or more? – hour in a row. "Even the profs go to this, you know. It's three days of arts, sports events, culture, anything you could dream up." She poked Saavik's arm, something she would not have done to a Vulcan she did not know better. "Even Neill goes."

"That is hard to believe."

"Would I lie?" Saavik had to admit Carinne usually would not. She was not unhappy to break from work and accompany her quadmates. Ever since the flood, she had been returning to normal – and that also meant a return to her task of learning about the other species here.

No one on the huge field at the center of the park seemed to be concerned in the least about academic matters. It was like one enormous party that had been coming on strong since early morning. Among the dozens of kinds of music, the random yelling and screeching of people playing a variety of games, and the strange odors emitting from the many open kettles and firepits ringing the periphery of the field, there were the sounds, sights, and smells from nearly a hundred cultures and subcultures. Dancing groups performed with extravagant disregard for the clashing of their costumes and music with those of other groups. It was time when the carefully nurtured identities of planet and race were cast loose, and each one – human or Vulcan, Orion, Tellarite, or Andorian, Sallusian, Ledaynian, even Romulan and Klingon – could permit this flaunting of cultural differences.

Saavik was struck by the enormous differences between the backgrounds of such human acquaintances as Tor Srimandan, Shulamith Kessi, Jaime Rojon y Kresnovich, Kazaba DeMille, and all the variants produced by colonial civilizations away from Earth. Of Vulcan variations she knew something; but since the Vulcans here were so much more restrained, they participated in events like this more out of politeness than real enthusiasm. There was nothing noticeably "ethnic" about their clothes. Carinne, however, knew who was what, and was the perfect guide through all the confusion.

She pointed out to her friends the booths where Andorian telepaths exhibited their memory feats and card readings. "They aren't the same subgroup of Andorians as the students here." Saavik had to agree; they even looked different, with a skin hue more lavender than blue, almost like the Paynants. The girls moved through the crowd, greeting friends, many of whom were in costume… barely recognizable in some cases as their quite ordinary classmates.

Luine complained, "If I knew how to do the dances, I'd be out there in a grass skirt representing Polynesians… but I never paid much attention when the old people did them at home." Her tone was wistful. Carinne encouraged her.

"Next year, Lu. I bet your grandma, your Wahine Nui, could send you video lessons, and you could have them down for next festival." Unspoken was Carinne's satisfaction that Luine had said no more about leaving Akadem yet; she would stick it out at least another Quarter. She and Neill were by no means reconciled, but Luine had casually mentioned that as of next Quarter, she and Holly would be roommates. Whatever the decision, Lu was finally dealing with her grief and not letting it make her decisions for her. Maybe her enthusiasm would return also, with the help of her counselors and her friends. So, Luine Kai-Mekelen's childhood dreams of spacefaring would develop towards a real future among the stars.

Luine was already launched on a new track – taking up the whooping, half-inebriated invitation from a band of Skye mummers to join them in their snake dance. Carinne proposed that she and Saavik get something to eat while waiting for Luine to get tired and drop out.

--

The food vendors were offering everything from the sticky to the nearly rotten, from the bitter to the pepper-hot. Saavik alternated between bites of the vegetarian _shashlik_ in her right hand and the Andorian giblin-bean pastie in her left, while Carinne had her thumb through the hole of a kind of art palette heaped with sour cream poppy-seed cake from Nowa Polska, a spicy Haluu dip, and _daloob_ sausage from the planet Vortex. Around them swirled not only the dancers but also a prong-fighting team from Jupiter-Titan, acrobats visiting from the Romulan planet Dancus, and the centaur-like human and equine symbiotes from planet Friendhaven, in their perfectly coordinated colored scarf drill.

Seeking a bench, they wandered to the side, where a plethora of crafts overflowed the small rented booths and stands arranged in irregular rows, none of them particularly neat. Carinne nudged Saavik. "Look – there's Neill!" She waved but her quadmate was paying no attention to the voices and pushing bodies around her. She was listening earnestly to someone hidden behind a stack of urns that were painted with weird symbols in an assortment of lurid colors. The booths in that section displayed ceramics, woven hangings, hammered brass ornaments (like the ones that Dabourian and 'Zaba DeMille wore), and plaited earth-tone reed baskets. Not very original, since these wares had been sold in bazaars for thousands of years on many planets. "Maybe she's decided to buy something to jazz up the room."

"That is not likely." If anything, Neill's tastes were even more spartan than Saavik's. "Do you see Luine?"

"Over there, between the two mummers in green." Carinne pointed out their red-faced friend looking happier than she had in weeks. "Don't count on her quitting yet. Let's get some more to eat."

--

Professor Filimas crouched among the earthenware and slipware displays, not really aiming to sell any of it, just to give her ceramics students a chance to show off their creations… and for the sheer fun of it. She was a bit surprised and pleased to see Neill Gallaghan stop by the kiosk.

"Need a pot, Neill?"

"No – I don't need anything. Filimas –"and the girl looked around quickly, saw no one else approaching to claim the instructor's attention, and leaned into the booth. "Filimas, that last project of mine needs some… improvements." Filimas waited, knowing that Neill rarely spoke about what was going on inside her. "I cannot let it stand the way it is."

"It hasn't passed through the stress tests yet. Do you want to wait till I have the chance to run them, and then dope out your walkway under the polarization lamp?"

"I need more time to work on it," Neill repeated stubbornly, as if she were searching for the correct way to say something very difficult. "In fact, the only way I'm going to improve it will be to spend a considerable amount of additional time in the studio."

Filimas did not show even the hint of a smile; _that_ was inside. She understood perfectly. And Filimas, once her student had hurried off without a backward glance, permitted herself a long, soft chuckle. "Amazing. Just amazing."

--

"You're kidding. You've _got_ to be kidding," Rufia Helmons protested in a weak voice. "You're _sick_, girl. You're running a fever," she proposed, hopeful that this was indeed the case. She wondered if she should grab Tesat's arm and physically restrain her from this folly.

"On the contrary," the Romulan answered, "I have never felt better." They were balanced on top of a railing at one side of the festival grounds. Neither girl was focused on anything going on around them. Tesat had a strange gleam in her eye. "People here on Akadem are constantly encouraging creativity in us… well, I am going to _be_ creative. If Komack thought the Kelpan spider was a surprise…"

"I _had_ hoped your sense of humor would… oh, I don't know… calm down a little."

Tesat gazed far out across the crowd, indulging her imagination. "Komack is still here, is she not? Well, as long as she is, it is _war_."

"Count me in!"

--

He was not quite back in top form, but Cranston Pike was out with his friends and enjoying the chaos. One or two of them had tried to get him to sit quietly at the sidelines, offering to bring him something to eat, but he had put a stop to that. "Go _on_, I'm not coming apart!" As far as he was concerned, the only sign of his head injury now was his rather unfashionably short fuzz of hair, where his skin had been sealed. He was telling people that this was in anticipation of entering Star Fleet, where short hair was still part of military discipline. The important thing for Cran was not his celebrity after the flood, or the upcoming exams, or the present excitement of the Midsummer Festival, but the fact that the injury had not disrupted his plans to take the Academy pre-tests on schedule. That had been his greatest unspoken worry as he lay in the infirmary. Now it was a matter of getting all of his strength back, so he could soon leave this place forever.

"What're you frowning about, Cran?" Shaji had draped a friendly gray arm across his shoulders. Pike felt the warmth in the gesture and reassured his friend.

"Not frowning… trying to figure out _who_ that is over there, see? The Orion female dancer? Who's the lucky guy she's got her veil wrapped around?"

Shaji peered intently, then commented with a certain world-weary sadness for one so young, "Not me, that's all I know."

Pike laughed. "Courage, Shaj. Don't envy him… by midnight he'll have her boyfriend's little stiletto in his back if he goes on like that…" He tapped the other student on its shoulder. "Come on. I see some girls who seem to be unescorted." _I'll miss student life,_ he admitted to himself. _Just enjoy this now… once I'm at the Academy, it'll be a precious long time before I have another holiday._

_--_

They reclaimed Luine from the dancers eventually, and moved without aim or direction among the crowd. Saavik was surprised to see the very dignified Master Hakat and his slender wife Himei in green capes, topped with tall plumed hats, doing a stop-action kind of dance while their daughter Maruk managed a set of tambourines mounted on a stand, clashing out a rhythm that seemed to change at whim. There were no other Ledaynians with them, but they seemed to be doing a creditable job representing their culture. Hakat appeared to be having _fun_; this was a word Saavik was deeply suspicious of, since so many people regularly found excuses to have "fun" while avoiding work and responsibilities. But if the Master could enjoy himself…

Carinne gave her a sidelong look. "You are enjoying yourself. Admit it, Saavik." Her eyes were merry. "I think you should have brought a recorder along to take impressions and collect data. There probably will not be another occasion to see so much cross-cultural interaction until the next Babel Conference. And I'll bet this bunch is a lot less restrained than a group of Babel diplomats would be!"

"You would not need to risk your money. I believe you," Saavik replied. She no longer fell for the literal meanings of human language, and had learned to take at least an occasional pleasure in teasing. "This is very interesting… I shall incorporate my impressions into a special research paper; perhaps I shall need two or three more such occasions to gather enough data." She mustered up a stern face, and indicating another spectacle before them, spoke disapprovingly, "It is quite undignified for senior faculty members to act like _that_."

Her gaze was riveted upon the Dean of Students and department chair of Linguistics, Hajj Mustafa Hamari. The old man balanced on three-meter stilts, wearing a white robe and a turban. Incredibly, he was spinning on his stilts, never losing his footing, chanting all the while in a language Carinne identified as classical Farsi. Behind him, several students were tossing multicolored balls up to him one at a time; he caught them and did not break his spinning rhythm even while juggling three, four, five balls. He made it look easy.

"He _loves_ this," Carinne assured Saavik. "Looks forward to it every year, and so do we; it's always worth coming out to see if he can pull it off another time."

"He is… endangering himself."

"He's over eighty years old, Saavik. He can do what he likes. Anyway, it's a rest from the concentrated work on language acquisition in positronic brains, or whatever his lab is doing now."

"Doing a fascinating project should be its own reward." But Saavik realized that both Luine and Carinne were getting their _"here she goes again"_ look, and fell silent. Thoughtfully, she observed how much everyone else around her was enjoying the spirit of the occasion. She saw T'Lili, her coppery hair free of ordinary Vulcan restraints, demonstrating to some of her compatriots how easy it was to bend a fork with one hand; her audience was mostly human and Andorian, and they seemed very impressed. _Now that,_ she thought, _is illogical._

Elsewhere, other amusements offered themselves: the three Zoromirs, well recovered from their green rash disease, were up in a tree, singing slightly smutty ballads in Kantan (Nadine, as usual wearing just a little less than she should); Caryamandis had taken friendly offense at remarks about her age and was flipping student volunteers casually over her shoulders onto the soft grass, to the delight of all.

It was late when the girls returned to Jenner House. Carinne had fulfilled her intention: Saavik was no longer inclined to spend any more time that day in studying. Neill had returned earlier and was deep in a cocoon of contemplation at her compu/desk, her hearing sealed off with the densest earpads available. She said nothing to anyone, and that was all right with them.

Luine left to join a small party in the next quad. Carinne was going to escape to dinner with Miller. Saavik settled onto her bed in an easy position to re-read a letter received yesterday from Spock. He was responding to the rather too long one she had sent him:

"I am taking a teacher's prerogative to express how pleased and satisfied I am with your work. I am aware of the manner in which you acted during the recent crisis on Akadem. The news reports I received included mention of this. In addition, it was alluded to in correspondence from several of my acquaintances there. While it is true that logical action needs no thanks, nor expects any, you ought not to be surprised that a family is grateful for the rescue of their child. See this as another opportunity to learn the ways of another culture and to understand their customs and sensibilities and things which they hold in esteem. As an officer in Star Fleet, as you may well be some day, you will be regularly performing helpful service, frequently including the saving of life and property. Seeing this as a duty that proceeds directly from your responsibilities will require that your actions be dispassionate and logical. Saavik, you are still young, and I anticipate several more years on Akadem before you are ready to think about the Academy…"

Saavik agreed intellectually; she knew how much there was yet to learn and that a person could not expect to enter the Fleet's training program with her present immaturity and lack of knowledge. However, something in her wanted to get ahead with her quest for a home – in space, on board a ship. She read on:

"I am familiar with the system of 'exemption Quarters' at your school. As you know, you may take a Quarter off-planet, working or studying, in lieu of the regular academic program. You have only been on Akadem for two Quarters, but I believe that if you wished, and if the experience seemed worthwhile to you, an exemption could be arranged through your advisors. There is room for three observer students on the light cruiser _Mandalay_ which will come through your quadrant at the end of Delta Quarter. If you are interested, you may apply through me, since as a captain I have the privilege of nominating candidates for such positions.

"The captain of _Mandalay_ is Commodore Dr. Paule Benson, an alumna of Akadem and a _summa_ graduate of Star Fleet Academy. Her crew is composed principally of scientists and development technicians. Most are female. You would find among them a number of mentors, and a mixture of peoples not unlike that on Akadem. Think seriously about this offer."

When Saavik had first read those words, she had sat back, not exactly stunned as a human would have been, but wonderfully surprised. Once more, Spock had understood a very sensitive area of her person: her growing belief that she would "make it", as her human acquaintances would say. Saavik considered the prospect of a voyage on a ship like _Mandalay_ as desirable, but still premature. To be among working scientists – not as a child, this time, but as a quasi-colleague permitted to observe and question and get a glimpse of the life she was planning to embrace someday – it was powerful and tempting. The orphaned bastard child, rescued from a miserable, short, nasty life – could she become an officer… a captain? Spock seemed to think so. But then, thinking back on it, Saavik realized that he had always thought so.

"Since the flood-related crises on your planet have passed, and I have no reservations about the results of your upcoming examinations, there remains only one more thing I wish to write today. What I read behind the literal words of your letters pleases me: a growing maturity and a sense of responsibility that is properly centered. You mentioned your reconciliation with your Romulan fellow-student, towards whom you felt you had been dishonest. Some of this 'dishonesty' will persist as long as you resist admitting your own Romulan heritage. This must come from you. To the galaxy in general, and to me, you _are_ a Vulcan. Primarily, you are an independent being whose life from now on must be shaped by an open-ended candor as well as by integrity of body and mind. Being Vulcan _is_ an important identity, carrying connotations that are not prideful but which recognize the achievements of all of Vulcan and its people. It will be neither an offense nor a surprise to me to learn one day that you have taken you own path – Saavik's way – of which Vulcan ways are only one stage. Read and re-read Surak; better than many of his time and ours, he understood the value of difference and the responsibility a Vulcan has, to stand for the respect for diversity everywhere in our universe…"

Something oddly peaceful and resolute came over Saavik. The letter had ended there, with Spock's holo-seal beneath the last word on the screen. Even on second reading, she was moved by the letter's content and by its length, considering Spock's busy schedule. So it was true. Her path was open… even to Star Fleet, if she took the initiative, if she followed through. That she would _ever_ admit to being as much a Romulan as a Vulcan she was doubtful; but it was right, somehow, that Spock had taken the time to concern himself with it. And maybe a Vulcan should not be proud… but there was a stiff, thorny, unashamed pride in Romulans. Perhaps this would permit her to be a _little_ proud… to be a Vulcan.

She wondered what Tesat would say about that. Thoughtfully, Saavik placed the letter cassette on the shelf by her desk, pulling the viewscreen closer. From memory her fingers keyed the verse –

_Hold fast to dreams_

_For if dreams die…_


End file.
